The Three Rings
by JBean210
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Mr. Ollivander presents Harry, Ron, and Hermione with the Silver Chest, a mysterious artifact that has been in his family for generations. Will they be able to open it? And once open, will they be able to keep what's inside?
1. Secret of the Silver Chest

**The Three Rings**  
Chapter One

**Secret of the Silver Chest**  
_Published 3 September 2010_

Harry Potter appeared in front of the small, shabby entrance to the Leaky Cauldron Friday evening just around supper time. Normally, the sudden appearance, seemingly from nowhere, of a young man in a long dark cloak, jeans, T-shirt and trainers would have given the most jaded inhabitant of London pause. But the vast majority of people hurrying along Charing Cross Road never even saw the Leaky Cauldron; their eyes slid from the old bookstore to the record shop, or vice versa, without ever noticing the pub between them. This was because the Leaky Cauldron was a pub for wizards.

Ron and Hermione waved to Harry as he entered the shop, as did several of the other patrons and old Tom, the bald, wizened innkeeper and barman. A butterbeer was waiting for him at the table, and Harry nodded gratefully to both of his friends as he slid into an empty chair, scooped up the bottle and took a long, deep pull of the golden liquid. "Ahh," he said, smiling as he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his T-shirt, just to see Hermione roll her eyes in feigned annoyance and Ron's amused grin. "So, how've you two been?"

"Couldn't be better," Ron replied, and Hermione smiled, rubbing his arm affectionately as he finished off his own bottle. "I was wondering if you'd forgotten about us though, mate." He indicated several empty bottles in front of him. "I've already had a few."

"So I see," Harry smiled. He shrugged. "I've been meeting with Kingsley this afternoon, trying to sort out when he wants us to 'officially' begin work at the Ministry."

"And?" Ron prompted.

"Next week," Harry said, taking another swig of his butterbeer. The new Minister for Magic had wasted no time after taking office before asking both Harry and Ron to become Aurors, even though neither of them had a single N.E.W.T. to their names. During the past month the three of them had all been busy at Hogwarts, helping to repair the damage caused by the battle with Voldemort and his Death Eaters and other minions. Harry had asked around discretely amongst the witches and wizards he'd come across during the past month, trying to get a sense of what they thought about the idea. In the eyes of most of wizarding Britain, he had learned, Harry and Ron, and Hermione as well, had more than proven their worth during the Second War with Voldemort, and Harry especially, during the battle. The idea was enthusiastically supported, and both Harry and Ron had agreed to begin working for the Ministry as soon as the reconstruction of Hogwarts was completed — which it now was. Shacklebolt had asked Harry to report, along with Ron, to the new Head Auror on Monday morning.

Harry turned to Hermione. "He'll probably be owling you before long as well, Hermione — from what he's been saying, Kingsley thinks you're just the person to help him reorganize the Ministry. He wants to clear out all the dead wood there, he says, and I agree with him — there's a lot of people still working at headquarters that have no business being in our wizarding government any more."

"Like Dolores Umbridge," Ron growled, darkly. "I'm surprised she wasn't sacked straightaway."

Hermione had scowled at the mention of Umbridge's name, but said, in a low tone, "Kingsley wants to be fair about things, I suppose — but I can't believe he couldn't find anything on that — that wretched, spiteful old woman!"

"Go on, Hermione," Ron said, patting her on the shoulder in mock encouragement. "Don't hold back — let it all out."

She pushed his hand away, but smiled. "You don't like her any more than I do, Ron!"

"That's the understatement of the year," Ron snickered. He turned back to Harry. "Was Ginny coming to dinner with us, too?"

"No," Harry shook his head. "She was meeting some friends tonight, to have a bite."

"Oh, who's that?" Ron wondered, a teasing smile on his face. "Dean Thomas? Or maybe Michael Corner? Or both?"

"Ron!" Hermione said, punching him lightly on the arm. "Not funny!"

But Harry was chuckling along with Ron. "No, it sounded like a ladies' night out with some of the other Gryffindor girls, and maybe Luna. In fact, I wouldn't have minded joining _her_, but you two asked me first."

"And speaking of dinner," Ron said, jerking a thumb toward the exit leading to the courtyard out back, where the entrance to Diagon Alley was located. "Why don't we get a move on, then? I'm starving."

Diagon Alley, which had lost much of its business in the years during Voldemort's return and reign of terror, was once again bustling with witches and wizards engaged in buying, selling, or simply visiting. Shop proprietors waved to Harry or shook his hand as they walked down the cobbled street. He was even stopped twice by comely young witches introducing themselves to him, smiling invitingly at him, though he had to beg off having a drink with one insistent young woman, saying he was with his friends.

"We would've understood, Harry," Ron said, grinning mischievously at his friend, "if you'd wanted to skive off dinner with us."

"Right," Harry said, skeptically. He rather doubted Ron would be so understanding if he actually _did_ something like that, since he and Ginny had resumed dating. "So where did you want to eat, then?"

"I hear Florean Fortescue's son reopened his father's ice cream stop as a restaurant," Hermione suggested. "How about eating there?"

That was acceptable to both Ron and Harry, both of whom were rather more hungry now than choosy about where they ate, and they settled into one of the outside tables fronting the new Fortescue's Finest Foods, which served a menu of traditional British fare such as roast beef, lamb, chicken, and the usual accompaniments of potatoes, corn, peas and even salads. Flavian Fortescue, Florean's son, had even included traditional favorites such as bangers and mash or fish and chips on his menu, for quicker meals.

"Ah," Ron sat back in his chair some time later, satiated. "That was pretty good," he said to Harry. "Mind you, not as good as Hogwarts, but good."

"You can always go back with me for seventh year, Ron," Hermione said, teasing him. Ron shook his head firmly _no_.

"Not likely," he said, feelingly. "Especially if the Aurors Department wants me and Harry on board straightaway. "Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded absently, sipping at his butterbeer. He wasn't altogether convinced Shacklebolt's decision to hire them without the required N.E.W.T.s was the best plan, but there had been no dissenting opinions from the current Aurors, and only very sparse (though expected) opposition from the Wizengamot, notably Umbridge and a few of her cronies, all of whom had managed to hold onto their positions at the Ministry despite the changes had been made in the past few years — first Fudge out and Scrimgeour in; then his murder and the takeover by Voldemort's Death Eaters; and finally the defeat of Voldemort and the removal of Death Eaters from the Ministry and the beginning of Kingsley Shacklebolt's Ministry leadership.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter." The soft voice, speaking almost in his ear, surprised Harry and he turned to see a white-haired man with large, moonlike eyes smiling down at him. The old man nodded to Ron and Hermione as well. "And to you, Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley. I trust you are enjoying this fine summer evening."

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander," Harry said, smiling at the elderly wizard. He had last spoken with the wandmaker while they were both at Shell Cottage, Bill and Fleur's home, after Harry, Ron, and Hermione rescued him, Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas and the goblin Griphook from Malfoy Manor over the Easter holidays. "It's nice to see you again, sir. I hope you are feeling better."

"I am, thank you," Ollivander said. "I was just out getting a bite — I've been putting quite a bit of work into getting my shop ready for reopening."

"That will be wonderful," Hermione nodded. "We missed having a quality wandmaker in Diagon Alley this past year."

"I do what I can, Miss Granger," Ollivander inclined his head toward her in gratitude for the compliment. "I only hope I can find an apprentice suitably qualified to carry on after me when I can no longer make wands."

"Which hopefully won't be for a long time," Harry added. Ollivander inclined his head again, then stood looking at Harry for some time without speaking.

"Er —" Harry was beginning to feel self-conscious. "Is there something else you wanted to talk about, Mr. Ollivander?"

Ollivander nodded slowly. "There is, Harry — may I ask you and your friends to accompany me back to my shop. I have something to show you."

They paid their bill and followed the old wandmaker back to his shop — Ollivander's, Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. The shabby, little shop was nearly at the end of Diagon Alley. Inside, the walls were mostly bare. "It may be a awhile before my inventory is up to snuff once again," Ollivander said, as the three stared in disbelief — at one time, they had been lined from floor to ceiling with thousands of wands.

"What happened to all of them?" Hermione asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

"Stolen," Ollivander replied, heavily. "By Death Eaters, after I was kidnapped. I understand they were used to fund Voldemort's war chest — sold all across Europe, Asia and Africa. Ollivander wands are quite prized in the wizarding black markets — some of them went for as much as 75 or 100 Galleons apiece," he added, with wry pride. "A shame, really, that I myself would never ask so much for one of them."

"So — er, that's not what you wanted us to come here for, is it?" Ron asked, a cautious tone in his voice. Hermione gave him an impatient look, as if to tell him to let Ollivander take his time.

"No, indeed not, Mr. Weasley," Ollivander said, amused. "I have something for the three of you. Just a moment," he said abruptly, walking into the back of his shop.

Harry, Hermione and Ron looked at one another, puzzled. "Mr. Ollivander," Harry called. "Sir? It's not necessary —"

Ollivander reentered the room carrying a metal chest. Harry fell silent and watched the wandmaker as he set it on the countertop before them. "Here it is," he told them, waving a hand toward it. "The Silver Box."

"Why d'you call it that?" Ron asked. Hermione slapped him on the arm. "Ow!" he said, then shrugged at her impatient look and added, "Other than, you know, for the obvious reason that it's a box made of silver?"

Ollivander shook his head. "It has always been called that," he replied. "It has been n my family for generations. No one knows how old it really is. Some stories place it as far back as the Founders — others, to Merlin himself."

"Why are you showing it to us, sir?" Hermione asked him, staring at the box curiously.

"I am giving it to the three of you," Ollivander said, softly.

"But — why?" Harry wanted to know. "We've already told you, we expect nothing from you in return for saving you from the Malfoys."

"I know," Ollivander agreed, placidly. "But this is not a reward for saving me. For a millennia or more my family has kept this chest, waiting for the day when someone would appear who was worthy of it. More than sixty years ago, when Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald, I contemplated giving it to him." Ollivander looked into Harry's green eyes. "But I did not see in him what I see in you, Harry, and your friends. I ask that you accept the box and find a way to open it."

"You don't know how to open it?" Ron exclaimed. "How're _we_ supposed to do it, then?"

"I do not know," Ollivander shook his head. "It has resisted all attempts over many years to open it, or discover what is inside. Yet I believe you are the one who can do it, Harry." He held out the box to the young Auror. "Please take it."

Harry looked at Ron, then at Hermione. They both looked at him, nodding encouragingly. Finally, he nodded as well and held out his hands, taking the box from the wandmaker, who smiled one final time at them, then without another word turned and walked into the back of his shop.

"Now what?" Ron asked, after several moments of silence.

"Let's get it back to Grimmauld Place," Harry decided. "We can study it more carefully there."

=ooo=

Once outside the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road, the three quickly Apparated to Grimmauld Square; to any Muggle who might have been watching, they would have seen only three young people who seemed to be standing on the street, looking at the space between houses number 11 and 13. A moment later they were gone again, though most residents of the area would never have noticed them in the first place.

Inside the front hallway, Harry and his guests were greeted by the residence's house-elf, Kreacher, who took their cloaks and bowed them into the living room, chattering all the while about how pleased he was to have Harry home again and would he and his guests like anything to eat or drink. Harry, impatient to discuss the Silver Box with Ron and Hermione, dismissed Kreacher back to his chores and asked not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening. Bowing low, Kreacher backed out of the room and disappeared down the hallway, while Hermione gave Harry a reproachful look.

"You were a bit short with him, weren't you, Harry?" she complained.

"Maybe," Harry admitted, with a shrug. "But Kreacher wouldn't give us a moment's peace if I didn't ask him to leave — he's been afraid something's going to happen to me ever since I returned from Hogwarts."

"But what could happen to you now, with You-Know-Who dead?" Ron wanted to know.

"Dunno," Harry said. "He didn't want me joining the Aurors, though — practically threw a fit when I told him about Kingsley's offer. He said, 'But the bad mens, Master Harry, the bad mens will be after you!'" He gave both of his friends a wry smile. "I told him I'm used to it."

"At least now you've some someone backing you up when you need it," Ron pointed out, feelingly. "The entire Auror Department is behind you all the way, and with all the Death Eaters cleared out of the Ministry, you shouldn't have any trouble getting support when you need it."

"_Almost_ all the Death Eaters gone," Hermione added, darkly. "I still think there's a few left in the woodwork."

"Like Umbridge, for example?" Ron suggested, smirking at her, and she folded her arms across her chest, staring evenly back at him, refusing to be baited. "Actually, I wouldn't disagree with you," he continued, when she remained silent. "She doesn't have the Mark, you know, but she's about the slimiest piece of work left over from the old administration — I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she ended up in Azkaban in the next year or so."

"Why don't we get to the issue at hand?" Hermione nodded toward the silver chest, which Harry had placed on a low table around which they were now standing. Harry leaned closer to the box, examining it carefully. Its entire surface, tarnished with indefinable age, was covered intricately curling, looping patterns. There were two hinges along one side, though the join between lid and box was so tightly fitted that not even the sharpest blade edge would slide between them. On the front was a small, gold plate where a keyhole should be, but instead was a intricately engraved monogram that resembled a stylized "M."

"Maybe we should try _Specialis_ _Revelio _on it," Ron suggested, looking at Hermione.

"Didn't you hear Mr. Ollivander?" Hermione reminded him. "Detection spells don't work on it." Nevertheless, she had taken out her wand and was gazing steadily at the box. "There must be _some_ way to determine what's inside…"

"I think I have a way," Harry said. He reached over and picked up the chest, hefting it slowly to get an idea how heavy it was. He began to jiggle it.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, baffled.

"When I lived with the Dursleys," Harry said, holding the chest close to his ear while giving it a couple of short shakes, "they usually hid his birthday and Christmas presents in the cupboard I slept in." Seeing Hermione's shocked expression, Harry added, "They knew Dudley would never think of looking in there — he couldn't believe I wouldn't want all the toys and rubbish he got from his mum and dad over the years."

"But you _didn't_ want them?" Hermione looked even more surprised.

"Course I did," Harry said, a bit indignantly. "But I knew I'd be in loads of trouble if so much as a ribbon looked out of place. That didn't keep me from shaking the boxes carefully, to see if I could sort out what each one had inside. I got to be quite good at figuring out what was in the boxes, too."

Hermione hid a grin behind one hand. "I used to do that, too!" she giggled. "I'd sneak downstairs early Christmas morning, after my parents went to sleep, and try to figure out what they'd gotten me."

Ron was looking at both his friends like they were barmy. "Where's the fun in knowing what you're going to get?" he asked, looking incredulous. "Mind you, we always knew what Mum had wrapped up for us —a sweater or a scarf, and almost always red or gold, or both, after you started Hogwarts." But, seeing Harry continue to rattle the chest softly, he added. "What do you think?"

"Something big inside," Harry muttered distractedly, giving the chest a few more shakes. "And I think I hear a few smaller objects as well — maybe three or four."

Ron folded his arms across his chest. "So now all we have to do is open it."

"'Aye, there's the rub,'" Hermione quoted.

"What?" Ron looked confused.

"Never mind," Hermione shook her head at him, then looked away and rolled her eyes.

But Harry was nodding. "Maybe _that's_ it," he suggested. "It might be like a magic lamp, you know — let's give it a rub and see what happens." He set the chest down on the table between them; then, bracing it with his left hand, he began rubbing one side of the box. Harry rubbed and rubbed for several seconds, but nothing happened. He finally stopped, looking frustrated.

"Was it good for you?" Ron asked, with a mischievous grin. Hermione gave him a stern look, which he ignored.

Harry shook his head. "We may have to go back to Mr. Ollivander and see what else he can tell us about this chest."

"Harry, if this has been in his family for generations and no one managed to open it in all that time, they've probably already tried every bit of magic imaginable on it," Hermione pointed out. "It might be better to take it to the Ministry and let the Unspeakables try to open it. After all, we don't know what might be sealed inside that chest."

Harry shook his head once again, this time emphatically. "No. Ollivander and his family had centuries to turn it over to the Ministry. Instead, he gave it to us, and I want to have a real go at it before we give up. We've got to find some way to think outside the box."

"Oh, ha-ha," Ron said.

=ooo=

Over the next few of days they found the silver chest to be quite impenetrable. Detection spells were, as Ollivander had told them, quite useless. Neither could the chest be Vanished, made transparent, or transfigured in any way.

The locking mechanism remained a mystery as well. The lack of a keyhole was perplexing, though Hermione insisted that it made sense that, if there wasn't a physical key then it couldn't be lost; the method for opening it must therefore be magical rather than material. _Alohomora_, the obvious unlocking spell to try, had no effect (nor did Harry expect it to — the idea that such a spell had never been attempted in over a millennium was ridiculous). Hermione looked up several other unlocking spells in several other spell book, but none of them had any effect either.

Finally, and a bit unwillingly, Hermione took out one final book from the beaded purse where she kept all her books now, with the Undetectable Extension Charm that expanded the internal dimension of the purse without making it appear any larger. The book was _Secrets of the Darkest Art_, the book that held, among other things, the instructions for making a Horcrux.

"I thought you got rid of that," Ron said, eyeing the book suspiciously. "You said you loathe the bloody thing."

"I don't like even looking at it," Hermione agreed, cautiously thumbing through the book. "But I don't like throwing away knowledge, either. Even knowledge as foul as this." But nothing in the book proved to be of any use, either.

Harry was tempted at one point to return to Hogwarts and attempt to find his old copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ in the Room of Lost Things — there had been many spells written in the margins of its pages, and Harry thought they might stumble upon a way to open the chest. But it was unlikely that the book had even survived the Fiendfyre that Vincent Crabbe had unleashed the last time they were in there, a storm of cursed magical fire that had cost the Slytherin his life, and would have killed Draco Malfoy as well, had Harry not saved him. Reluctantly, he had to abandon the idea.

They tried a few unlikely ideas as well — the three of them pressed each of their thumb- and fingerprints against the small golden plate on the front of the chest, on the off-chance that it would open upon recognizing one of them — though the idea of fingerprint recognition would have been a novel technique a thousand or more years ago. However, there was no reaction to any of them. By the evening of their third day trying to open the chest, a Sunday, it was beginning to take a toll on their nerves.

"I'm beginning to think Ollivander made a mistake," Ron said morosely, staring at the still-unopened chest. "Maybe _none_ of us are supposed to open this thing."

"I'm not giving up," Harry shook his head stubbornly. "He wouldn't have given it to us after all this time if he wasn't sure we were meant to open it."

"Perhaps not, Harry," Hermione sighed. She sounded tired — after three days of trying to figure out the secret of the box, they all were. "But we're out of ideas."

"We've only been at this for _three days_," Harry retorted, hotly. "I mean, we worked _months_ to figure out how to get inside the golden egg, back during the Triwizard Tournament, didn't we?"

"I don't know who you're referring to," Hermione said, managing to look both amused and offended by what Harry had just said, "but you hardly had a go at the thing until a few days before the second task, and then only because Cedric Diggory gave you a big hint on what to do!"

"That's beside the point!" Harry argued. "I'd been _thinking_ about it all that time!"

"Oh, _I_ see," Hermione's eyes grew large, in mock surprise. "So you _think_ that's what did it, do you — all that 'thinking' you said you did? What complete rubbish!"

Ron looked on in surprise at this unexpectedly heated exchange between his two best friends. Normally it was he and Hermione who were at loggerheads — it was unsettling to see Harry and Hermione upset with one another. "Just hold it, you two," he interjected, trying to calm things down. "It's not that big a deal — we'll figure it out — I hope," he added, in a mutter.

Harry threw up his hands in frustration. "No, you were probably right, Ron," he said, turning away from both of them. "Somebody else ought to have a go at this."

"So what are you saying, Harry?" Hermione said, to the back of his head. "That we should give it back to Mr. Ollivander?"

"Or to the Ministry?" Ron added, now looking unhappy at the idea. "Kingsley will probably set up some committee to study it for the next ten bloody years, you know." In the past month, since his confirmation as Minister of Magic, Shacklebolt had set up numerous committees, studying various impacts to his proposals for reforms in the Wizarding government. A few of them had led to any changes in how their government worked, though they had at least purged most of the Death Eaters and dead wood from the bureaucracy.

Harry waved a hand in dismissal, without turning around. "In another day or so it won't matter anyway," he said, tiredly. "We'll have to report to the Auror Department for duty — that'll leave only Hermione to work on the chest, and she doesn't have that much time before school starts again. I don't know what else we can do, other than keep working on it during the evening and on weekend."

"We can do that," Ron offered, and Hermione nodded. "I mean — we've got to keep trying, Harry! It's not going to be as simple as looking at the box and saying something like, oh —" he hissed at the box "— and have anything… happen… uhh —"

Ron suddenly went silent, and after a moment Harry turned around, looking at him inquiringly. Both he and Hermione were staring at the box, eyes wide.

"What happened?" Harry asked, looking at them, then followed their gaze to the silver chest.

"It _jiggled_," Hermione whispered, looking at Ron. "The box moved! Ron, what did you _do_?"

Ron looked astonished. "I — I just…" he looked at Harry with some trepidation. "I was just messing around, Harry — honest! I — I — tried saying "Open" in Parseltongue. Like — like you did when we went into the Chamber of Secrets."

"And like you did, when you went back down to get more basilisk fangs," Harry added, flatly. Ron and Hermione both nodded slowly, remembering. They had never really told Harry what had gone on down there, that time.

Harry turned back, staring at the silver chest. "If Parseltongue can open the chest, I wonder what's inside that made it move?"

Ron's eyes grew wide once again. "You think it's another — a _Horcrux_?"

"It can't be," Hermione declared. "We found all of them!"

"_Did_ we?" Harry said, still staring at the box. "What if Voldemort made _seven_ Horcruxes, not six as Dumbledore thought? This could be the seventh one."

"Harry, you're letting your imagination run away with you," Hermione argued. "This chest has been in Mr. Ollivander's family for something like a thousand years. Voldemort wouldn't even have _known_ about it!"

"But Ollivander was a prisoner of Voldemort's for nearly two years at Malfoy Manor," Harry reminded her. Hermione's face fell as she realized the implications of that.

"You — you think he might have told them about it?" she asked, her voice faltering.

"If he was being tortured by Voldemort, he might have told them anything he thought would keep him alive," Harry replied. "I think he was quite lucky to have escaped — Voldemort must have really wanted to keep him alive making wands for them as long as possible."

Ron jerked his head toward the silver chest. "So what do we do about _that_?"

Harry took a deep breath. "I think we open it and see what happens."

"Do you think you can, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I guess we'll find out," Harry said. He looked closely at the chest, trying to find a pattern that resembled the form of a snake. It had been some time since he'd spoken Parseltongue — the last time he'd heard it spoken was in the Shrieking Shack, as Voldemort ordered his snake Nagini to kill Snape — but as long as he could imagine he was talking to a snake it should work. He found a swirling pattern on the chest that looked about right, and he spoke: "Open."

Nothing happened.

Harry looked up enquiringly at Ron and Hermione. Ron shook his head as Hermione said, "English."

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration, staring intently at the chest once again. "Open," he said again. "Open. Open! OPEN! Op—" he finally stopped, remembering what he'd learned in Snape's memories — his ability to speak Parseltongue had come from the fragment of Voldemort's soul that had stuck to his as the Killing Curse rebounded on him from Harry, the first time they met. Now that the fragment was gone, he could no longer speak or understand the language of snakes. "It's no use," Harry said aloud. "It's gone."

"Let me have a go," Ron said, suddenly. "I think I can remember what it sounded like." Harry stepped aside and Ron took his place in front of the chest. "Alright, then —" he cleared his throat and swallowed, then made several hissing noises at the box. Each time he did so it shuddered or jiggled a bit. On his fifth attempt, the box shook violently and the top popped open. All three of them jumped back in alarm. They all looked at one another, then Harry and Hermione began pounding Ron on the back.

"You did it, Ron!" both of them shouted. "You DID IT!" Ron grinned, secretly pleased that he'd once again been able to accomplish something that Harry hadn't. But a moment later that was forgotten as the three of them turned to the now-open chest.

"_Now_ what?" Ron asked, voicing the question in all their minds. Slowly the trio leaned forward, trying to see inside the chest, but the only thing immediately visible was a few folded pieces of old, discolored parchment. Reaching carefully inside the chest, Harry removed the parchment and handed it to Hermione, who carefully unfolded it and scanned the writing on it.

"What's it say?" Ron finally asked, impatiently.

"I don't know," Hermione said, shaking her head. "It's written in runes, but what I'm reading doesn't make any sense. It must be written in some ancient language using the runic alphabet. What else is in the box, Harry?"

"Look," Harry said, taking the other objects from the chest and setting them in front of it. He had placed three rings on the table. The first ring, they saw, was thick and golden, with a large, round setting surrounding a symbol that resembled a stylized "H." The second ring was glowing faintly green; its setting was a green circle with flat caps above and below it, also green. The final ring was the simplest looking one — instead of a setting it had only a raised ziggurat — a lightning bolt symbol — along its top.

They also stared at the final object as Harry took it from the chest. The largest item in the box, it was s small lantern, as green as the green ring, and as Harry reached out and pulled up its cover a green brilliance shone from it, bathing the room with scintillating patterns of emerald light.

"Is that _it_?" Ron asked, sounding disappointed. "That's all that was in there?"

"Ron!" Hermione's tone was severe. "We don't even know what all this _is_! Why anyone would put three rings, a lamp and few sheets of parchment in a box and keep it hidden for centuries is…is…. well, I don't know what to call it!"

"But we're going to have to find out," Harry spoke up. "I think we need to show these things to Mr. Ollivander — especially the parchment. I hope he'll have some way to read it."

"I hope you're not going to put them back in that chest," Ron said, rubbing his throat. "I feel like I hurt myself, what with all that hissing."

Harry shrugged. "Well — three rings, and three of us — it seems like we could each wear one."

Hermione gave him a disbelieving look. "Don't you think we should check them for curses _first_, Harry?"

"Oh, right — of course," Harry agreed, remembering how Dumbledore's hand looked after he'd tried on the Gaunt ring, the one that turned out to be also a Horcrux cursed by Voldemort as well as one of the Deathly Hallows. Now that ring was gone, lost somewhere in the Forbidden Forest when it slipped from his finger as he went to meet Voldemort there, for what Harry thought was his final duel with the Dark Lord, the one where he sacrificed himself to ensure that all the Horcruxes were gone, including the tiny fragment of Voldemort's soul in Harry himself.

Harry and Ron watched as Hermione cast several spells over each ring. She paused after each spell, scrutinizing each ring carefully. Finally she turned back to her two best friends, looking vaguely dissatisfied as she said, "They all seem to be okay, but…"

"But — _what_?" Ron snapped impatiently. "Are they cursed or not, Hermione?"

"Not as far as I can tell," she replied. "But I might have missed something —"

"You? Miss something?" Ron snorted laughter. "Not bloody likely! I'm convinced —" he reached down and snatched one of the rings off the table, slipping it onto his right ring finger before Hermione could stop him.

"Ron! Give that back!" Hermione grabbed at his hand, and Ron jerked it away from her, holding it high above his head so she couldn't reach his hand.

"I told you," he said, grinning as she reached up futilely, trying to pull his arm down. "There's nothing going to —"

Ron's whole body suddenly jerked as a bright flash and a loud BOOM like thunder shook the room. "Whoa," he breathed, looking up at the ceiling. "Did you see that —" he blinked in surprise, seeing Hermione sprawling on the floor, supported by Harry. Both of them were looking toward Ron in wonder.

Hermione was blinking dazedly, seemingly unable to focus her eyes, but Harry was staring directly at him. "Ron," he said quietly. "Do you realize you were just hit by a bolt of _lightning_?"

"Really?" Ron looked at his hands. "I saw a flash and that loud boom, but I didn't feel anything. Well, something feels different, though." He looked around the room. "_Looks_ different, too! What happened to your furniture, Harry?" Several chairs were now laying on their sides or backs. "This is bloody weird —" Ron leaned over and put a hand beneath the back of a chair, to tip it upright. A moment later the chair was flying through the air. It crashed into the opposite wall, breaking into several pieces, then fell to the floor.

"I take it back," Ron muttered, looking at the broken chair. "_This_ is bloody weird! What the hell's happened to me?"

"It must be the ring," Hermione said, her eyes finally clearing, as she looked from Ron back to Harry. That lightning bolt appeared just as he raised the ring in the air." They all turned to look at the other two rings — surprisingly, the table they were on had not tipped over as well. "For whatever reason these rings were hidden away in this box, they must give whoever wears them special powers."

"It looks that way," Harry agreed, glancing at Ron. "So what do we do with them now?"

"We still go talk to Ollivander, like you said, Harry," Hermione decided. "And we take the rings with us. The only question is, who wears what ring?"

"I like this one," Ron said, holding up his hand with the golden H-ring on it. "Too bad it didn't have an 'R' on it, though. 'R' for Ron, you know."

Hermione sighed, then looked at Harry. "Which one do you want to wear, Harry?" Harry looked at the two rings left on the table. He had an idea which one Hermione would choose.

"Which one do _you_ want?" he asked her.

Hermione turned and appeared to think for several seconds. "Well," she said at last, "I sort of like the green one."

"Okay, then," Harry nodded, and reached for the lightning bolt ring. He and she both slid their respective rings on their fingers at the same time. Harry raised his fist head high, then waited for Hermione to do the same. "Here goes," he said, raising his ring above his head.

Nothing happened.

After a few moments Hermione repeated Harry's gesture, but again nothing happened. Looking somewhat chagrinned, they both lowered their hands and looked at Ron. "Well don't look at me," he said defensively. "I didn't know which ring was magic!"

"Oh hush, Ron," Hermione said, irritably. "We're not blaming you for anything. It's just…" she stared pensively at the lantern still sitting on the table. "I think this ring must have something to do with this lamp…" She moved toward the lantern, and as her ring hand drew near it the cover of the lamp suddenly slid up, bathing the room in green light from a glowing green sphere inside it. Impulsively, Hermione touched the ring to the glowing sphere, and the room darkened suddenly as the green light was seemingly absorbed into the ring. After several seconds Hermione drew her hand away. "It — it was like a magnet was holding the ring against it," she told Ron and Harry. "Then suddenly it let go." She looked at them, green light from the ring illuminating their faces as she held it up for them to see. "I can feel magic in this — a _lot_ of magic, more magic than I've ever felt before. It's like it's… flowing through _me_ as well. I — I feel like I could do anything I wanted to with this ring!"

Harry checked his watch. "We'd better get over to see Ollivander — his shop might already be closed." It was late on a weekend, and Harry had no idea what hours the wandmaker might keep now. "Come on." Harry started to leave, but Hermione shook her head.

"I can get us there faster, Harry," she said. "The ring told me how."

Harry blinked, nonplussed. "The…_ring_…told you that?"

"Of course," she smiled brightly. "It's really very simple. Just stand next to me — Ron, you stand here," she pointed to a spot on her right side. "Harry, you stand here." She indicated her left side.

Ron looked at Harry, who shrugged and stood next to Hermione. A moment later Ron did the same. "Now what?" Harry asked, thinking that he'd heard that phrase more in the past few days than during his entire time at Hogwarts.

Hermione smiled. "Now, we just — _go_." The ring flashed green and there was a sudden whooshing sound, like they were moving really, really fast through the air, though the only thing Harry could see was the green light surrounding them. Their feet suddenly thumped against the floor and the green light disappeared, revealing — the interior of Ollivander's shop.

"Merlin's pants," Ron breathed, looking around in surprise. "Hermione, you did it!"

"Of course," Hermione said in an even tone. "It was simple."

"It looks like he's closed," Harry observed. The shop was indeed dark. Glancing through the dusty windows, Harry saw that most of this end of Diagon Alley was similarly darkened — only a few late-night cafés were still open for business, though Harry could not make out how many people were inside the shops he could see.

"Who's there?" Ollivander's voice came querulously from the back room, and the old wandmaker emerged a moment later, his wand out and glowing with the _Lumos_ spell. His moonlike eyes blinked, then he nodded in relief as he saw the three of them. "Ah — Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger! To what do I owe the honor of this late visit?"

"We opened the chest, sir," Harry said, skipping any preamble to the business at hand.

"Splendid! Bravo!" Ollivander cheered them. "I knew you three could do it! What did you discover inside?"

"That's what we came to talk to you about, sir," Harry said. The three of them held their hands forward, showing the rings on their fingers. "We found these rings — and so far a couple of them have displayed some rather unique abilities."

"Indeed?" Ollivander nodded, staring with interest at the glowing green ring on Hermione's finger. "What type of abilities?"

"Ron put on one and it made him very strong — stronger than Hagrid, I'd reckon," Harry explained. "And Hermione put on that green one, then told us it felt very magical to her — she was able to bring us here from Grimmauld Place in just a few moments."

Ollivander was nodding slowly. "And what of the ring on _your_ finger, Harry?' he asked, looking at the lightning bolt ring.

"Nothing's happened yet," Harry replied, with a shrug of feigned indifference.

"We found this with the rings," Hermione said, holding out the parchment they'd found in the box toward Ollivander. "They're in runes, but I don't understand the language it's written in. We thought that you might…"

Ollivander accepted the parchment sheets from Hermione and began reading them. Watching his expression, Harry noted a look of surprise followed by intense interest come over the wandmaker's face. After nearly a minute of silence, during which Ollivander seemed to scan the entire document more than once, Harry finally asked, "Can you tell us what it says, sir?"

Ollivander looked up, startled. "Oh! My apologies, Harry — I was quite taken aback by what is written here." He looked at the three of them quite gravely. "I fear I may have done the three of you a terrible wrong by giving you that chest, after all."

"Are you joking?" Ron sounded quite skeptical. "Look at this!" He walked over to a large wooden table set against a wall of the shop. The table was solid wood and looked quite heavy. Grasping one end of the table in both hands, Ron lifted it effortlessly into the air, until the opposite end nearly touched the shop's ceiling. "It's light as a feather!" he grinned, letting go so he was now balancing it with one hand. He lowered it back onto the floor. "I'd hardly call that a curse!"

Hermione held up the ring on her own hand. "And this ring enabled me to bring the three of us here in seconds, straight through the wards at both Grimmauld place and in Diagon Alley. I checked the rings for curses, Mr. Ollivander — there was nothing on any of them that could harm us."

But Ollivanders's serious expression hadn't wavered. "Let me read to you what is written on the parchment. It is written in an ancient language passed down through wandmaking families." He began reading from the parchment sheets, translating the runes to English.

* * *

_Beware, all who discover this chest of silver, and these three rings within. They are cursed and the bane of all men who would use them, for weal or woe. First gathered together by Merlin of old, they came into the possession of the Founders Three. Bold Gryffindor claimed the Herculean Ring, while wise Ravenclaw chose the Ring of Green Magic. Gentle Hufflepuff, mildest of the three, held the most powerful ring of all, the Ring of Lightning, created by the Ancient Wizard Sha-Za-Mo._

_But the last Founder, wily Slytherin, who had left the other Three, plotted to steal the rings for himself, to increase his power beyond that of any living man. So the Three sealed away their precious rings, creating a powerful spell of eternal friendship to hide it from all but one, who would hold its secret with him and his family, the first headmaster of the school of Hogwarts, Oellivus._

_I, Oellivus, make this pledge and solemn vow — I and mine shall hold these rings safe from any and all attempts by Slytherin or his minions to obtain them. It has been whispered in dark corners that foul Slytherin has laid a curse upon the rings, wherever they may be, that any who attempt to use them shall come to a foul end. We defy this curse! Someday, when the time is ripe for their use, my progeny shall bestow these rings on ones deserving of their power._

* * *

Ollivander looked at Harry, his expression still serious. "I am afraid I have brought this upon you and your friends, Harry Potter. That was not my intention, believe me. You have done too much for me to repay your generosity so poorly—"

"Don't worry about it," Harry said, to reassure the wandmaker. "Is that all that was on the parchment?" It seemed like there was more that Ollivander hadn't read.

The old man nodded. "There is more written about each of the rings." He held up the second piece of parchment, reading from it.

* * *

_These are the legends of the three Rings. The first, chosen by Godric Gryffindor, is a golden ring with a round head set with a golden "H" for the legendary hero Hercules. It is rumored that this ring was given to Hercules by Zeus himself. By wearing it and raising the ring toward the heavens, a magic bolt from Zeus will endow the wearer with the strength of Hercules for as long as he needs it._

_The second ring, held by Rowena Ravenclaw, is a ring of green metal, of unknown origin. Its setting is a representation of the Green Lantern, the source of its power. The Green Lantern holds the orb of Green Magic, a powerful magical substance made of the same material as the ring. To keep the ring charged with magic, it must be touched to the lantern's green orb to the count of ten, once per day. The lantern will glow bright green during this time, then dim when the ring is charged. It is rumored that the ring and lantern were both fashioned by Merlin himself from a rock that fell from the sky during an eclipse of the sun._

_The third ring, possessed by Helga Hufflepuff, is the most powerful ring of all, and is called the Ring of Lightning; it was greatly desired by Salazar Slytherin for its power. The ring was created three thousand years ago by the ancient Egyptian wizard Sha-Za-Mo, to bring together the powers of seven great heroes and mythic beings, so as to create a Champion for the Egyptian people, to enable them to rule over all other races._

_But Sha-Za-Mo regretted creating the ring, for the Egyptian rulers were arrogant and cruel. He instead used it against them, halting their conquests and bringing peace to Egypt and the surrounding lands. The ring was passed down through the ages until it came to Britain and the hand of Merlin, and thence to Helga Hufflepuff, who never invoked its power for herself save once._

_The power of the ring is the power of the seven legendary beings it holds. The seven powers are:_

_**S** for the **wisdom** of **Solomon**,_  
_**H **for the** strength **of** Heracles,  
****A **for the **stamina** of **Atlas**,_  
_**Z **for the** power **of** Zeus,  
****A **for the** invulnerability **of** Achilles,  
****M** for the **speed** of **Mercury**,_  
_**O** for the **courage** of **Odysseus**_

_The ring is invoked by holding it toward the heavens and speaking the name of the wizard, "Sha-Za-Mo." Saying the name again releases the powers until needed again._

* * *

"So _that's_ what I needed," Harry muttered, looking at the ring on his hand. The magic word." He held the ring in the air.

"Be careful, Harry," Hermione said quickly. "You don't know what the ring will do —"

"Nothing happened to you or Ron," Harry cut over her. "I want to see what this ring will do when I say— _Sha-Za-Mo_!"

There was a thunderous BOOM as a magical lightning bolt suddenly crashed through the ceiling of the shop, blinding Hermione, Ron and Ollivander. Blinking through sudden tears, the three stared in amazement at the change that had come over Harry.

No longer was he a scrawny teenager. Instead, a man well over six feet tall stood facing them, a handsome, dark-haired man with bulging muscles in a red suit with a golden lightning bolt upon his chest, with a white and gold-lined cloak upon his shoulders tied by a golden cord.

"Whoa," Ron said, squinting to see his friend with his dazzled eyes. "Nice suit, Harry — reminds me some pajamas I had when I was a kid."

"Funny," Harry said flatly. His voice was now deeper, and resonated with power. He looked at his two friends. "Now that we've got these rings sorted out, what do we do with them?"

"We should find some way to help Kingsley and the Ministry," Hermione piped up. "Harry, you and Ron should be quite effective as Aurors with the powers you possess now. And I —" she stared at the green ring glowing on her hand. "I should be able to come up with some way to help those the Ministry's been ignoring all these years…"

"Before we do that, though," Harry said, then turned to the wandmaker. "Mr. Ollivander, I hope you will keep this secret for us until we figure out what we're going to do."

"Of course, Harry," Ollivander nodded agreeably. "I will tell no one what I have seen this evening."

"Good," Harry said. He turned to Hermione. "Can you get us back to Grimmauld Place without anyone seeing us?"

"Of course," she said, and a moment later the three of them vanished in a flash of green. Smiling to himself, Ollivander walked into the back of his shop, where he kept his small bed. He was glad he'd given the box to Harry — he just hoped his instincts hadn't misled him.

Moments later, a figure in a black cloak slipped away from the window of Ollivander's shop, moving into the shadows of Diagon Alley. A few doors down a flame flared briefly from a wand tip, and a plume of greenish smoke trailed away from the man as he made his way to the street's exit and into the Leaky Cauldron. The Ministry would surely want to know about this, he thought. Chosen One or not, Harry Potter and his friends were messing with powers that were well beyond their ken — the Ministry would know what was best for them. And for himself, Mundungus Fletcher smiled, thinking of how many Galleons he could get for this information. Surely _someone_ at the Ministry would find it quite useful!

=ooo=

**Author's Notes: Literary References for the Three Rings:**

**Ron's "H" Ring (The Ring of Hercules). "The Mighty Hercules" was a cartoon TV show from 1963 to 1966 that featured Hercules, his centaur friend Newt, his girlfriend Helena, and several other characters including his father, Zeus, who lived on Mt. Olympus. Hercules originally lived on Olympus but would aid the people of the kingdom of Caledon when they were threatened. Because he became mortal when he left Olympus, whenever he was in real danger, he would put on the ring his father gave him, raising his fist in the air where it is struck by lightning (sometimes called the Thunder of Zeus), giving him super strength for as long as he needed it.**

**Hermione's Ring (The Green Ring and Green Lantern). These are based on the original Green Lantern and ring used by the original Green Lantern, Alan Scott. Scott used his ring to fly, to walk through solid objects, to paralyze or blind people temporarily, to create rays of energy, to melt metal as with a blowtorch, and to cause dangerous objects to glow, among other things. Occasionally, he uses it to create solid objects and force fields, and to read minds. His ring could protect him against any object made of metal, but would not protect him against any wood or plant based objects.**

**Harry's Ring (The Lightning Ring of Sha-Zo-Mo). This is based loosely on the Captain Marvel legend, though Billy Batson had only to say the name "SHAZAM" to become Capt. Marvel. The wizard's name was originally Shazamo (which I altered to Sha-Za-Mo in a bit of literary license); the O came to stand for the courage of Odysseus (Ulysses). Solomon, Heracles, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles and Mercury also lend their abilities to the ring bearer who says the name of the ancient wizard. Magic lightning strikes the ring, transforming the bearer into an adult with the abilities of the seven legendary figures. The rumor about Helga Hufflepuff is that she only use the ring once, though we do not know the details of that adventure (at least, not yet).**


	2. The Ministry Strikes Back

**The Three Rings  
****Chapter Two**

**The Ministry Strikes Back**

_Updated 1 Octoober 2010_

The trio left Ollivander's shop, but not before Harry had changed back to his normal form by raising his ring hand into the air and shouting "Sha-Za-Mo!" once again. Magic lightning flashed brilliantly in the shop and Harry was transformed back to his normal self. Bidding goodbye to the wandmaker, they stepped out into the darkened, cobblestone street leading back to the Leaky Cauldron.

"Now what?" Ron asked, as they walked back toward the exit.

"I guess we should get back to Grimmauld Place, shouldn't we?" Harry decided. "We begin our first day at the Ministry tomorrow morning," he reminded Ron.

"I suppose," Ron said, not sounding enthusiastic about that idea. "But I wish there was a way to check out what these rings can do. What do you think?" He looked Harry expectantly.

"I dunno, Ron," Harry shook his head, unsure. "What're you gonna do, start lifting tables in the Leaky Cauldron? We don't want to give ourselves away this soon, do we?"

"We could go somewhere," Hermione suggested, an expression of newfound excitement on her face. "Somewhere there aren't any wizards _or_ Muggles, where we can try out our rings!" Ron beamed happily at her agreement with his idea, but Harry shrugged doubtfully.

"I dunno," he said again. "Where are we going to find a place like that, other than the Forbidden Forest? And even in there we'd have to duck the centaurs, and probably Hagrid as well."

"Right idea, wrong forest," Hermione pointed out. We can go to the Forest of Dean. There's lots of places in there we can go to avoid Muggles, and wizards don't normally go there anyway."

They had come to Diagon Alley's exit, and the brick wall opened automatically at their approach, forming the archway that led to the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. "D'you think it'll be open this late?" Ron asked, nodding toward the pub's back entrance as they crossed the courtyard.

"It should be," Harry said, checking his watch. "Some cafés were still open in Diagon Alley, I saw — Tom will stay open as long as they do. Worst case, his cleaning crew will probably let us out." Harry had learned all of this when he spent most of August before his third year at the Leaky Cauldron after "blowing up" his Aunt Marge back on Privet Drive. Afterwards, he'd fled the Dursley home with his trunk and wand, and inadvertently flagged down the Knight Bus, which brought him to Diagon Alley. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic at that time, had shrugged off his use of magic in front of Muggles, having Tom the innkeeper furnish him a room and letting him explore Diagon Alley during those three weeks, though he hadn't been allowed to leave through the pub's main exit and venture into London itself. He found out later it was because Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban prison and everyone feared for his safety, though it turned out Black's actual target was not Harry, but Ron's pet rat Scabbers, who was in fact Peter Pettigrew, an Animagus. Black had been accused and imprisoned for murdering him, along with twelve Muggles, though it turned out to be a trick Peter used to fake his own death and blame Black for it.

They entered the back of the pub. Though late on a Sunday evening, there were still a few regulars there. A couple of them looked over at the new arrivals, but seeing who they were, nodded or lifted a glass to them. Harry nodded back, and Ron grinned at being recognized, earning an amused glance from Hermione.

At the bar was another familiar figure — former Order of the Phoenix member, Mundungus Fletcher, who was leaning over an empty mug. He turned at their approach, looking surprised. "Well bless my soul," he said, seeing Harry. "If it isn't young Harry Potter! Having a bit of fun in Diagon Alley, are you?"

"Something like that," Harry said, coolly. When he'd first met Dung, the man had made him, Ron and his twin brothers Fred and George laugh, with his ribald stories and tales of the "business transactions" he'd engaged in over the years. But when he'd taken to abandoning his post while protecting Harry, then looting Grimmauld Place of its valuables, he began to lose his appeal. The final straw had been when he'd Disapparated from Alastor Moody's broom while disguised as Harry himself, as the Order moved Harry from Privet drive just before his seventeenth birthday. Leaving Moody alone had cost the retired Auror his life during that operation, and the other Order members removed Dung from their ranks. He walked on by the older man without another word, toward the exit.

"Yer not still upset at me, are ye, Harry?" Dung said, in an wheedling tone. "Why can't we let bygones be bygones? I'll even buy yeh lot a drink! Tom," he called to the bald, toothless barman, "set me up another drink, an' one for my friends!"

"_Another_ drink?" Tom said, roughly. "Mebbe yeh had one too many already afore yeh came in here, Dung."

"Come on," Harry said to Ron and Hermione. "Let's get going." Wordlessly they followed him out the front of the pub, into the London night. Charing Cross Road was dark and mostly deserted as well; Harry saw no one out walking, on either side of the street.

"You know," Ron pointed out, as Harry was looking around. "It's not often Dung offers to buy a drink."

"And it's even less often that I want to drink with him," Harry retorted. "He was nicking Sirius's things, right out of his house!"

"And he caused Mad-Eye Moody's death," Hermione reminded Ron, looking disgusted. "I don't ever want to see him again."

"Me either," Ron agreed. "But it would've been nice to get one free drink out of the man..."

Hermione and Harry exchanged glances, then Hermione sighed and stepped between her two friends. "Ready?" she asked, and when Harry and Ron both nodded, she held out her ring hand. The ring flashed green, and the three of them disappeared.

They appeared in a woody clearing, in near darkness. Ron held up his wand, saying "Lumos," but its light barely illuminated the three of them, though they were standing right next each other.

"Let me," Hermione said, pointing her ring upward. A brilliant beam of green light shot upward, and the leaves and branches above them began to glow a bright, if somewhat eerie, green. Looking around, Harry could see the clearing they were standing in quite easily now, though the green light gave it a surreal appearance.

"Excellent!" Ron exclaimed. He strode over to a nearby tree. "Let's see just how strong I am — _uhhhhh_!" He stepped away from the tree he'd just tried to pull from the ground — it hadn't budged. "What happened to my strength?" he complained, looking at his hands.

"Did you forget already?" Hermione asked archly. "The letter Mr. Ollivander read to us said you'd have the strength of Hercules as long as you _needed_ it. Obviously, you became normal again sometime after the last time you used your strength. Try raising the ring in the air."

Ron did as she suggested, and a moment later the clearing flashed white as the terrific BOOM of a thunderclap sounded around them. Ron looked at the ring again, now seeming to glow as an aftereffect of the lightning strike. He wrapped his arms around the tree once again, braced his legs, and pulled upward. A series of loud snapping sounds, like whips being cracked, came from beneath the tree as it slowly moved upward. Ron finally jerked it free, then spun around to look at Harry and Hermione in amazement; the tree trunk swished around like he was waving his wand about again.

"Can you bloody _believe_ this?" He was shouting to them. "I pulled this whole tree out by the roots!"

"Whoa," Harry said, looking up at the tree. It must've been fifty or sixty fee tall, but Ron was moving it about easily. "I guess I better have a go, too! Sha-Za-Mo!"

There was another brilliant flash of lightning and an ear-shattering BOOM, and once again Harry was gone, replaced by the muscular, black-haired man in the red suit and yellow lightning bolt. "Now," Harry said, looking around for another handy tree. "Let's see what I can — Ron, _look out_!"

The tree on Ron's hands was suddenly out of control. "It got heavy!" Ron was shouting. "_Help_!" he yelled, as the tree began falling toward Harry and Hermione. Harry leaped forward, his arms up stretched, and caught the shaft of the tree as it fell, bracing it and keeping it from hitting Hermione. Together, Harry and Ron set the tree on the ground.

"I don't know what happened," Ron was saying, breathlessly, staring at his hands once again. "It just suddenly got heavier! I thought that ring was supposed to give me the strength of Hercules for as long as I needed it!"

"But did you notice _when_ it became heavier?" Hermione pointed out. "Just as Harry shouted the name of Sha-Za-Mo, the wizard who created the ring using abilities from seven heroes and mythic beings, according to Mr. Ollivander. The 'H' in Sha-Za-Mo is for 'Heracles,' according to the letter he read us. But Heracles and Hercules are the same hero — the name is different because the Greeks and Romans had different names for that legendary person."

"So what's your point?" Ron asked, a bit irritably, wishing Hermione would stop explaining things with a hundred words when ten would do nicely.

"What I'm _trying_ to say, in so many words," Hermione replied, tartly, because she had Ron's number about his dislike of her verbosity, "is that if both you and Harry invoke the strength of Hercules through your respective rings, you each split his strength."

Further examination seemed to bear this out — Harry and Ron's strength levels were roughly half of what Ron or Harry could lift when only one of them invoked the strength of Hercules, though Harry could run or fly just as fast as before, whether Ron had half his strength or not. They had torn up several trees and put deep gouges in many others, testing their strength and Harry's other abilities, before finally stopping.

"What about _your_ ring, Hermione?" Ron asked at last. "What can it do besides Apparate us to different places and shoot lights in the sky?"

"I've been talking to it," Hermione replied, looking at her ring. "It's a very powerful ring — it can do a lot of things even our magic can't do."

Harry and Ron both looked at one another. A ring that could think for itself? That sounded awfully familiar… "Does the ring seem to be trying to…control you in any way?" Harry asked, carefully.

"Oh, no!" Hermione shook her head emphatically. "Nothing like that! I know what you're thinking," she told them, "but this isn't like the gold locket we carried around all those months, Harry. This isn't a Horcrux, if that's what you're thinking."

"How d'you know?" Ron asked, concerned. That damned locket had made him leave Harry and Hermione for a while, and when he had the opportunity to destroy it, with the Sword of Gryffindor, he nearly couldn't do it. "That locket made me think everything I knew was wrong an' that I was a bloody idiot for every believing it. I even thought that you an' Harry were —" he cut himself off suddenly. "Well, they weren't very pleasant thoughts, if you know what I mean."

"I just know," Hermione said, a bit curtly. "This ring wants to protect life, not destroy it — I, I don't think a Dark wizard could even wear it without feeling pain. The ring would not work for someone like that. Even now it's urging me to —" she looked around at the torn and uprooted trees Harry and Ron had damaged. "Watch," she said, pointing her ring.

Green energy shot from the ring, fanning out in streamers that touched all of the damaged trees. The uprooted trunks lifted into the air, resettling into the ground from which they'd been torn. The gouges in the tree trunks slowly filled in, re-growing bark and torn roots, until the clearing looked exactly as it had when they first arrived. "There," Hermione said happily. "Good as new!"

"Wow," Ron said, looking around. "That was bloody awesome!"

"Pretty amazing," Harry agreed. Even with all of the abilities in Sha-Za-Mo's Lightning ring, Hermione's Green ring seemed to be easily its equal in power.

"I think we ought to get back home," Harry told them. It's getting late — I expect your parents are starting to wonder where you are, Hermione."

"Uh —" Hermione blushed and looked away. "They'll be fine," she said, not looking at Harry. Harry frowned at the sudden change in his friend's demeanor.

"Hermione, is something wrong?" he asked, but she didn't respond. Harry looked at Ron, but he looked down, suddenly finding his shoes quite interesting. "What's going on here?" Harry pressed. "Did something happen to your parents?"

Hermione covered her face with her hands, and Harry began to get truly concerned. Ron walked over and put his hands on her shoulders, but she just shook her head. Harry walked over as well, standing in front of her. "Hermione," he said, gently. "Tell me what's wrong."

She shook her head slightly, not answering. Harry looked questioningly at Ron. "Her parents are okay," Ron replied, softly. "But, they're —"

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione said, from beneath her hands. "It's — too embarrassing…"

"Did you do something wrong?" Harry asked her.

"No!" she looked up quickly. Her eyes were red — she'd been crying silently beneath her hands. "But _they_ think so." She shook her head disbelievingly, then looked up at Harry again.

"Do you remember last year, when we were getting ready to look for the Horcruxes, I told you I'd modified my parents' memories and relocated them to Australia?" Harry nodded; he remembered thinking it would take a lot of courage — as well as quite a bit of cheek — to change his parents memories so they wouldn't remember anything about him or their former life. He would have been willing to do that to the Dursleys, however…

"I thought it was a brilliant plan," Harry said admiringly.

"Well, _they_ didn't," Hermione retorted, flatly. "After we'd finished rebuilding Hogwarts, I remembered I'd left them down there as Wendell and Monica Wilkins for nearly a year by that time, and Ron and I went down there, using a Portkey authorized by Kingsley Shacklebolt, and brought them back to London and their home, then restored their memories. You'd _think_," she went on, her voice starting to become shrill, "they'd be _grateful_ to have avoided all the problems we went through up here in Britain, with Voldemort and the Second War!"

"I would think that," Harry agreed, wondering what had actually happened.

"Well, they weren't," Ron put in, matter-of-factly. "They were a bit pissed off, in fact."

"More than a bit," Hermione amplified, with a ragged sigh. "They were angry I hadn't consulted them before changing their lives so drastically. I used up some of their savings maintaining the payments on their home, and their dental business went on hold for about a year, so many of their patients found new dentists, but they're mostly upset that I didn't check with them beforehand." She raised her hands in a gesture of helplessness. "But what was I going to do, tell them I was going to take away their memories of me and most of their past lives? They'd have never stood for it!"

Harry nodded. "And that was the point of your not telling them, wasn't it?"

"Of _course_ it was!" Hermione said, fiercely. "They _had_ to go into hiding, there was no other option, no other way for me to protect them! I don't know why they can't _see_ that?"

"Maybe they just need time," Harry suggested, speaking quietly and calmly, in contrast to Hermione's outburst of emotion. "They'll eventually sort things out and see that what you did was to help them."

Hermione slumped, emotionally exhausted from reliving the experience once again. "I hope you're right, Harry," she told him. "I think I know how you feel now, living with people who don't like you, like you had to all those years with the Dursleys."

Harry felt a surge of emotion for Hermione. He reached out, putting a hand on her cheek. "There's a big difference between your parents and the Dursleys," he told her, softly. "They never liked me, not the way your parents love you. Don't let go of that thought." She nodded, a final tear sliding down her cheek onto Harry's fingers.

Harry took his hand away, feeling a bit self-conscious. Hermione turned around, hugging Ron tightly, and he held her for a long time. She turned around at last, sniffling a bit and wiping tears from her cheeks. "I'm ready to take us home," she told him.

Harry nodded, and he and Ron stood close to her as she activated her ring; the clearing flashed green for a moment, then became dark once again.

=ooo=

At Harry's insistence, Hermione and Ron stayed at Grimmauld Place that night as well, instead of returning to the Burrow. Harry sent his Patronus to tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley where Ron and Hermione would be — it was quicker than trying to contact them by owl, and the Ministry was still sorting out the final arrangements of its revamping of the Floo Network, so most connections were still disabled. With the size of Grimmauld Place, however, and Kreacher to help with the cooking and cleaning, they would be more than comfortable here as in Devon.

Monday morning was Harry and Ron's first "official" day at the Ministry — Harry had visited it several times in the preceding months, discussing the situation with Shacklebolt as they helped the Hogwarts staff and students, past and present, to repair the damage done to the castle during the Second War and the Battle of Hogwarts. They were due at the Ministry by 8 a.m. — Harry was up by seven, showered, shaved and dressed for his first day at work. He stopped by Ron and Hermione's rooms, adjacent doors on the second floor, and knocked on each door, announcing it was seven o'clock and time for them to wake up, if they weren't already. There was quite a bit of rustling from Hermione's room when he knocked on the door, but nothing at all from Ron's; Harry shrugged, guessing the situation, then went down to the kitchen to see how Kreacher was doing.

The ancient house-elf, who had loathed all three of them when they first met him a few years ago, had come a long way in a short time. Harry recalled Dumbledore telling him that house-elfs, like most human-like beings, responded better to kindness and compassion than they did to indifference or scorn, and that had held true for Kreacher as well. Instead of seeking to defy Harry at every opportunity, as he had done when he first came into Harry's possession, Kreacher had responded to Harry's humane treatment of him by becoming a model house-elf.

The aroma coming from the kitchen was almost intoxicating, and by the time Ron came hurrying down to the kitchen, followed a few minutes later by Hermione, Harry had already tucked into a plateful of eggs, sausages, fried potatoes and slabs of buttery toast, washed down with glassfuls of cold pumpkin juice and milk.

"Mmmm," Ron was saying, sniffing the air hungrily. "Smells like Hogwarts cooking!"

"Yeah," Harry said, around a mouthful of eggs and potatoes. "Kreacher picked up a few pointers on cooking while he was working in the kitchens there."  
"Good morning, Ron Weasley," Kreacher said, politely, as Ron plopped down at the kitchen table. Would sir care for some breakfast this morning?"

"Definitely," Ron nodded eagerly. "Everything smells delicious, Kreacher!"

"Kreacher tries," the house-elf nodded agreeably. "What would sir like?"

"Eggs, I guess," Ron decided. "And sausages. And some potatoes, please. Heck, it all smells so good, I'll eat whatever you give me!"

"Make that two, please, Kreacher," Hermione said, entering the room and joining Ron and Harry at the kitchen table. Kreacher nodded and turned back toward the stove. Within a few moments Hermione and Ron were eating gustily as well.

"This is very good, Kreacher," Hermione said after tasting everything on her plate. "Thank you very much for cooking breakfast for us!" She was eating more than she normally did, Harry noticed; she usually had only a few pieces of toast and perhaps an egg or two, but today she was already mostly through her plateful of food.

"You are welcome, young mistress," Kreacher replied, in his croakish voice, as Hermione stifled a yawn behind one hand.

"How'd you sleep?" Harry asked her, partly to make sure she was okay and partly to tease her a bit. If he was right about where Ron was last night, neither of them may have gotten much sleep.

"Fine," she said, with a quick smile that was echoed on Ron's lips, followed by Hermione turning pink. "Why do you ask?"

Harry shrugged innocently. "Just curious — it may be hard for you to sleep in a strange bed."

"I slept fine," she said, dryly, then changed the subject. "Are you excited about your first day at the Ministry?"

"Excited" wasn't the word for it, Harry thought. "'Petrified' is closer to it," Harry said, and Ron snorted laughter in the middle of drinking his pumpkin juice. He put the glass down quickly, grabbing a napkin.

"Now I've got pumpkin juice up my nose!" he complained, laughing and coughing into his napkin at the same time. "Petrified, were you?" This set Ron off into a fit of giggles again.

"Oh, and I suppose you're Mr. 'Cool-as-a-cucumber,' are you?" Harry sniped at him.

"No, he wasn't," Hermione, who had just finished her food, was giggling as well, mostly at Ron's expressions while he blew pumpkin juice into his napkin, put in. "At least, not last night! He fretted all night about it —" she cut herself off suddenly, turning red again.

"Would the young mistress like some more?" Kreacher asked at that moment, misreading her silence.

"I hope so," Ron quipped, and Hermione looked at him, wide-eyed, before snorting laughter herself. All three of them began laughing as Kreacher looked around, confused.

"It seemed like a perfectly normal question to Kreacher," the house-elf muttered to himself.

Finally, a few minutes before eight, the three of them gathered in the front hallway just inside the front door of number twelve, as Ron and Harry prepared for their first day at the Ministry. Hermione would be traveling back to the Burrow, to spend the day with Ginny and Mrs. Weasley; Harry had been invited to the Burrow that night, for dinner, and was looking forward to seeing Ginny again, as it had been several days since they'd seen or talked with each other.

Hermione hugged both Harry and Ron goodbye before leaving. "Remember," Harry reminded her at the door, "Don't say anything to Ginny about your ring today — we'll decide tonight if we're going to tell her."

"Right," Hermione agreed, then "— Oh! I nearly forgot about the Lantern! But I can't take it with me to the Burrow — it'll look a bit suspicious, won't it, carrying around a lantern that matches the ring I'm wearing?"

Hermione extended her ring arm, and a beam of green energy lanced out from the ring, shooting down the hallway and into the sitting room, where they had left the lantern before going to see Ollivander. A few moments later the lantern came whizzing through the air toward them at the end of the green beam, stopping in front of Hermione.

"What're you going to do, Hermione?" Ron asked, as she grasped the handle of the lantern and held it before her.

"Recharge the ring," she said. "That way it'll be good for the next 24 hours. I'll have to figure out what to do with the lantern afterwards. For now, Harry, will it be okay to leave it here?"

"Sure," Harry nodded. "I'll have Kreacher put it somewhere safe 'til then." He and Ron watched as Hermione held the ring against the green orb inside the lantern. The lantern glowed brightly as the ring recharged, then returned to normal. Hermione handed the lantern to Harry, gave Ron another quick hug and a kiss, and stepped outside onto the front step and Disapparated.

Harry glanced at his watch. It was only a few minutes before eight, but they'd need only seconds to get to the Ministry. "Kreacher!" he called, and there was a _crack_ as the ancient house-elf appeared immediately.

"Yes, Master Harry," Kreacher said, bowing low to him, which always made Harry feel vaguely uncomfortable. Harry handed him the lantern.

"Kreacher, please put this someplace for safekeeping," he told him. "And don't give it to anyone who asks for it except Hermione and me."

"Yes, Master Harry," Kreacher said, accepting the lantern. But he did not disappear immediately. "Master Harry…"

"What, Kreacher?" Harry asked, though he already had an idea what the house-elf was going to say.

"Kreacher is worried about the bad mens," Kreacher said, confirming Harry's suspicions. "They are after him again, Kreacher is sure of it! Please don't go to the bad place."

"I've told you, Kreacher," Harry said, as patiently as he could after having this conversation for what seemed like the sixth time now. "All the bad men are gone from the Ministry now — they were removed months ago, and everyone who was sympathetic to Voldemort's ideas have been sacked as well. Well, almost everyone," he corrected himself. There were still a few hangers-on, like Umbridge, who'd been clever enough to somehow shift blame onto coworkers, so that no violations of ethical standards or Ministry regulations could be traced directly to them.

"Kreacher hopes so, young master," the old house-elf muttered. "Kreacher will keep the young mistress's property safe until she or Master Harry asks for it back." He disappeared with a loud _crack_.

"Ready, Harry?" Ron was standing at the front door, waiting expectantly. "We've only got about a minute left before we're due at the Ministry — and it's going to take that long to get through the visitor's entrance." Since they didn't yet have their Ministry credentials or badges, they had to take the alternate entrance. "Let's get a move on!" Ron jerked a thumb toward the door — there was a glint of reflected light from the ring on his hand as he stepped through, onto the front step.

"Ron, wait!" Harry said, thinking of something, but Ron Disapparated at that moment. Harry sighed, then looked down at his own hand, at the lightning ring on his finger. He didn't normally wear rings, and Aurors were supposed to notice small details and unusual things about people. He should have thought of this before, but it might look strange if he were seen wearing a ring now.

Ron might get away with it, since he'd been dating Hermione for a couple of months now, and a ring with an "H" set in the middle of it might easily stand for "Hermione." Even Harry, wearing a ring with a lightning bolt embossed on it, might not be that unusual if Harry liked showing off his lightning scar. But he'd always tried to hide it until now — it would appear strange if he was suddenly celebrating being scarred by his nemesis, even if Voldemort was dead.

But there was a solution. Harry reached into his back pocket, taking out his wallet. It was brown and furry, with fangs instead of a clasp to keep it closed. In fact, it had nearly taken off some of Harry's fingers when he'd first tried to use it, during Christmas of his fifth year, when he'd gotten it as a Christmas present from Hagrid. His last wallet had gone missing sometime during his search for Voldemort's Horcruxes, and he'd come across this one in his trunk as he was preparing to move permanently into Grimmauld Place. He'd asked Hagrid how it worked (which he hadn't bothered with when he first got it, since he already had a wallet he liked better) and Hagrid showed him how to stroke the spine of the wallet, relaxing it, so it would allow itself to be opened. Harry did that now, and slipped his ring off his finger, placing it in a small pouch in the wallet. Like Hermione's beaded bag, however, this small compartment had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, making it much more spacious inside than it seemed. The ring disappeared into the pouch, leaving nary a trace of its existence. Harry folded the wallet shut again, sliding it back into his pocket, then stepped onto the front step, turned on his heel, and disappeared.

A moment later he was standing next to Ron, on a dingy street where a few shabby office buildings and a pub stood nearby. They were looking at an old, red telephone booth standing in front of a wall covered in graffiti, most of it unreadable and the rest rather profane. "Where were you?" Ron asked, sounding nervous. "We're going to end up being late."

"You could've gone on in, you know," Harry answered. He pointed at the ring on Ron's finger. "You might want to take off your ring— it might be noticed, since you don't normally wear a ring."

"Huh, didn't think about that," Ron said, looking at his own ring. "Ahh," he scoffed a moment later. "Nobody'll notice it anyway — it's just a ring!"

"Ron," Harry pointed out. "Aurors are _trained_ to notice details like that."

Ron looked uncertain for a moment, but shrugged. "I'll just tell them it's a gift from Hermione." He pointed at the H on the ring. "See — 'H' for Hermione, right?"

"Suit yourself," Harry said. "Just don't tell anyone what it _really_ is." Ron made a locking gesture in front of his lips, then pantomimed throwing away the key. They both budged into the red telephone booth, and Harry dialed 6-2-4-4-2, corresponding to the letters in M-A-G-I-C.

Per the booth's cool female voice's instructions, they each stated their name, receiving a visitor's badge, then the booth slid into the sidewalk, taking them down in darkness to the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The Atrium itself was bustling with activity as witches and wizards arrived from the fireplaces on the left side of the hall and moved toward the golden gates along the far end, or congregated in clumps, having impromptu meetings. A very few were leaving, using the fireplaces on the right, Harry noticed, as they made their way to the far end where the security station was located. The guard there, still in peacock-blue robes, was a familiar face to Harry; still badly shaven, though most of his face was hidden behind an issue of _Witch Weekly_ magazine. After a moment he realized they were there and quickly put away the periodical.

"You're late," Eric Munch, the security guard, told them, his tone somewhere between stern and bored. Ron gave Harry a knowing look. _I-told-you-so_, his expression said. Harry rolled his eyes. _Bite-me_, his expression said back to Ron. Eric passed a golden rod up and down both Harry and Ron's front and back, then held out his hand. "Wand," he grunted, just as he had two years ago when asking for Harry's wand. Ron handed over his wand, and Munch placed it on the strange brass instrument that looked like a single-dished balance scale. The instrument produced a strip of parchment, which Eric read off in a bored tone.

"Chestnut and dragon heartstring, nine-and-a-quarter inches long. Been in use —" he frowned, looking at Ron uncertainly. "Er — twenty-seven…years? Is that correct?"

"I guess," Ron said. "I've only had it a few months, though — it, er — it was a hand-me-down." It was actually the wand he'd taken from Peter Pettigrew when they'd escaped from Malfoy Manor, but he wasn't going to try and explain that to _this_ bloke. His explanation seemed to satisfy Munch, and he handed Ron his wand back and slid the piece of parchment onto a spindle on his desk.

"You'll need an escort to the Auror Department," Munch told them, sitting at his desk and taking out a small piece of parchment and a quill. He scribbled a short message onto it, then tapped it with his wand. The parchment folded itself into a small paper-airplane shape, then flitted off the desk and into the air, flying through the golden gates next to the security station. He jerked a thumb at the gates. "Go wait in front of the lifts — someone will come to take you to the second level. Have a pleasant day," he added, in a monotone, and went back to reading his magazine.

"That wasn't too hard," Ron commented as they made their way through the golden gates and stood before the lifts, waiting for whomever was coming down to get them. "Only seven hours and fifty-five minutes left in our first day," he joked.

"Assuming we only have to work eight hours our first day," Harry added. From what he'd heard, Aurors could put in unreal numbers of hours, working around the clock if need be.

"The first week'll be a doss, I'm sure," Ron told him. "Tonks told Ginny that she worked harder during her training period than she did the first two months of her actual job — they had her doing nothing but reading reports for weeks after she stared. We'll probably be doing the same thing."

"If that's going to be your attitude, Weasley," a voice came out of nowhere from nearby, speaking sternly. "You may as well go home right now."

"Who's that?" Ron said, looking around for the source of the voice, as did Harry. "Who's there?"

The air next to Ron shimmered for a moment, then a tall wizard with short, wiry gray hair, dressed in black robes, appeared. Harry recognized him immediately as John Dawlish, the wizard Cornelius Fudge had brought to Hogwarts, along with Kingsley Shacklebolt, to confront Harry about his supposed DA meetings, the ones Marietta Edgecombe had snitched to Dolores Umbridge about, with unfortunate repercussions for herself. Dawlish was now the Head Auror; Harry recalled Shacklebolt telling him at one of their meetings that he had promoted the Auror shortly after taking office as Minster of Magic.

"I see you're finally here," Dawlish drawled, with an edge of impatience in his voice. "From now one, see that you both arrive on time when you're on duty."

"Yes, sir," both Harry and Ron said.

"Follow me," Dawlish said, getting into a lift that had just arrived. Harry and Ron stood nervously in front of the tall, imposing Auror, hardly daring to look at one another as other Ministry employees filed onto the lift with them. They made a slow, torturous ascent to the second level, stopping at every floor along the way to admit more people or let them off. By the time the lift reached the second floor, they were the only occupants still on it.

On the second floor, Harry and Ron stepped out, looking back at Dawlish to see what he would do next. The tall Auror strode past them. "Follow me," he said, in a clipped tone, leading them down a short distance to a door on their right, the second door from the lift. Through the door was a spacious, well-lighted office, with sunlight streaming through a window Harry knew wasn't real — they were actually several hundred feet below the streets of London.

"Be seated," Dawlish pointed to a pair of chairs placed before the large, oak desk. Glancing around, Harry saw numerous recognitions and awards from the Ministry and Wizengamot — an Order of Merlin, 3rd class; the Award of Valor, bestowed by the Wizengamot for conspicuous bravery against Dark forces, and several other achievements over his career as an Auror. There was even, Harry saw, a Medal for Magical Merit, an award given to only a handful of students at Hogwarts in the past one hundred years, including (Hermione had told him once) Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle. It was the _one_ award Hermione herself hoped to win one day, perhaps a primary reason why she wanted to complete her seventh year at the school.

"Minister Shacklebolt was very insistent on bringing you two into the Auror Corps," Dawlish was saying, staring levelly at both of them. "He seems to think you have what it takes. Do you _think_ that? Potter?" he challenged Harry.

"I've told Minister Shacklebolt my thoughts on becoming an Auror," Harry answered, after a moment. "I wasn't sure if it was a good idea to go on active duty without undergoing training first, but —"

"Let me clarify that point for you, then Potter," Dawlish cut over him. "It's _not_ a good idea. Not in any way, shape or form. We train Aurors for a reason — to give them a chance to transition from the academic life at Hogwarts, to the real world, where dueling is not something you do 'in a club,' or in some girls' lavatory. Oh yes," he added, when Harry and Ron looked surprised by his last remark. "I've heard of some of the stunts you've pulled over the years — dueling in bathrooms, fighting on the Quidditch pitch, and in general acting as if you're not subject to the rules of civilized society."

Harry's mouth was set in a thin, angry line — he knew that not every Auror felt he was qualified to take the position Shacklebolt wanted him and Ron for, but it sounded like Dawlish's mind was made up already. "Are you saying, _sir_," he asked, tightly, "that you would prefer we _not_ join the Auror Department?"

Dawlish sat back in his chair, regarding them over steepled fingers, a gesture that reminded Harry of a pose Professor Dumbledore often struck when talking to him. On Dawlish, however, it took on an air of presumptive arrogance. "That's already been decided," Dawlish said, sourly. "But not by me. Shacklebolt wants you, and he's the Minister of Magic, so he gets you. But mark my words, both of you —" he leaned forward again, pointing a finger at both of them. "I'll tolerate no insubordination from either of you. Disobey my orders, and I don't care what Shacklebolt says, I'll bust you back to Hit Wizard Trainee. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," they said, both thoroughly intimidated, though Harry saw this more as Dawlish's way of asserting his position with them than an actual threat. Minister Shacklebolt had been unstinting in his praise of Harry and Ron's efforts over the past year, even though he only knew of a small part of what they'd been through during the past year, and Hermione as well.

"Good," Dawlish growled, then stood. "Wait here," he said, and left the room.

"Whoa," Ron said, waiting a full minute after Dawlish had gone before speaking. "_That_ bloke's going to be loads of laughs to work for. I wonder if George still has an opening at his shop…"

"He's just trying to impress us," Harry said, dismissively.

"Well, it worked," Ron replied, feelingly. "I'm impressed. Maybe he's right, Harry," Ron wondered. "Maybe we _are_ too green for this job just yet, d'you think?"

"Maybe," Harry said. "But Shacklebolt's seen what we can do, and _he_ thinks we have what it takes. They made _him_ Minister of Magic, after all, not Dawlish."

"True," Ron agreed. He grinned. "After all, how bad could it get?"

Dawlish appeared at the door of his office once again. "Follow me," he said shortly, then turned and strode down the corridor toward Auror Headquarters. Harry and Ron jumped up and followed him. The Head Auror led them into a large, open section lined with several rows of cubicles. Harry had seen this area before — he'd been up here a few years ago, in Arthur Weasley's office, off in some far corner of the floor.

Now, however, they passed by more windows, all showing a view of London — a magical effect making it appear they were in an actual building instead of deep underground. "You've managed to avoid the usual training," Dawlish said, flatly, "but before I put you out on the street with other Aurors, I want you to undergo a special training session I've hard our Auror Training Specialist put together for you. You'll be in training until you're deemed qualified for regular duty."

He stopped in front of a door marked **Auror Training Section**. "I think you both know our Auror Training Specialist," he said, looking back at the two of them, and there was just a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He knocked on the door and a small, girl-like voice said, "Enter."

Harry's heart sank. _He knew that voice_! He looked at Ron, whose face had gone white. Dawlish opened the door and stepped inside, gesturing for them to follow him. Inside, sitting behind a desk dressed in a pink cardigan, with a matching pink bow in her mousy brown hair, was _her_ — Dolores Umbridge!

"Well, well — welcome to the Ministry of Magic, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley," she said, pleasant but obvious insincerity oozing from every pore of her body. "Thank you for bringing them in, Head Auror," she said to Dawlish. "I'll take them from here." Dawlish nodded and left the room.

"I was wrong," Ron muttered to Harry beneath his breath. "It got worse."

"Did you ask permission to speak, Mr. Weasley?" Umbridge inquired, in a falsely solicitous tone. Ron shook his head.

"You'll have to speak up, boy," Umbridge said, her tone turning mocking. "I can't tell whether you mean 'yes' or 'no' just by listening to your head rattle."

"No, ma'am," Ron said, gritting his teeth.

Harry didn't trust himself to speak just yet. If Dawlish only knew what this woman was capable of —! Or worse — he _did_ know, but had deliberately dumped them here, hoping they would be so demoralized seeing she would be in charge of them for the foreseeable future that they would decide to quit.

If that was the case, then both Dawlish and Umbridge had seriously underestimated them. Harry had beaten Umbridge before — and he'd do it again!

"Well, now," Umbridge had gone back to her falsely cheery, little-girl voice. "As the Head may have told you, we have a special training program for the two of you to go through. As you were excused from going through the normal three-year training program —" Umbridge said this with a slight roll of her eyes, clearly thinking this was due to preferential treatment rather than merit "— I've developed an accelerated overview designed to bring you up to the level of an actual Auror. It should not take you more than —" she smiled, her toadlike mouth spreading widely across her face "— two or three months, at most. Any questions?" She began looking around her desk for something, clearly expecting none.

"I have a question," Harry said. Umbridge looked up at him, mildly surprised. "Is this position where you managed to…land, after the shake-up in the Ministry, ma'am?"

Umbridge gave Harry a cold, penetrating stare, but after a few moments smiled sweetly, looking outwardly confused. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, dear boy."

"Well, you _were_ Senior Undersecretary to the Minister under Cornelius Fudge, were you not?" Harry pressed on, undaunted by her pretense at confusion, while Ron braced himself for the train wreck he felt certain was coming. "And under Voldemort's administration —" Harry hid a smirk as Umbridge reacted to his use of the Name "— you chaired the Muggle-born Registration Commission."

"All quite legal," Umbridge sneered, her high voice making her sound whiny and defensive. "The laws were approved by the Wizengamot, and the Commission was duly appointed by the Minister of Magic. You will not be able to prove otherwise. Do you have a point, boy?"

"Well, this job doesn't seem like a very…_lateral_ move, does it?" Harry pointed out.

"Auror training is a very important part of Ministry work," Umbridge said, coldly. It had in no way escaped her notice that Harry was mocking her loss of position in the Ministry under Shacklebolt — just as Harry hoped she would. He unconsciously touched the back of his right hand, the one that still bore the scars of his many detentions with Dolores. She was still ahead on points, but he and Ron would make it through this, somehow, and learn how to deal with Dawlish as well.

Umbridge stood suddenly, and both Harry and Ron went on alert, watching carefully to see what she was going to do. Had Harry's remarks enraged Umbridge past caring about the Ministry and her career? He'd seen her lose control before, more than once, and she could be dangerous when pushed too far.

But she just smiled, a rictus of forced congeniality that seemed to twist her features unnaturally, and simpered, "If you will excuse me for a moment, I want to check on something before we begin your training session for today." She left the office. The moment the door closed Ron slumped back in his chair in relief.

"I thought for sure she was gonna hex you for that remark," he told Harry, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, then grinned. "But that look on her face when you pointed out how low she'd fallen — priceless!"

"I thought that would wind her up a bit," Harry agreed, letting himself grin at the thought of the face Umbridge pulled. "And if she did try to use her wand on us, I figured she'd hex me first, then you could've Stunned her and got the other Aurors involved. That might've ended her career at the Ministry right then."

Ron chuckled. "Pretty cagey of you, Harry — too bad it didn't work!" Chuckling, he slapped his palm on the arm of his chair, then said "Ouch!"

"What happened?" Harry asked.

Ron was looking at his hand. "Oh, the band of this ring pinched my finger when hit the armrest. Dammit."

"Maybe you should put the ring in your pocket," Harry suggested again. "You don't want it coming off at a bad time."

"Oh, it won't come off," Ron smirked. "While I was waiting for you at the visitor's entrance this morning, I thought of that, too. So I used a Permanent Sticking Charm to make sure the ring can't come off my finger."

Harry frowned. "What? How're you ever going to get it off, then?"

Ron grinned. "Don't worry — I also set up a counter-spell to remove the charm if I need to. But only I know the counter, so nobody else can get it off my finger. You ought to use it on your ring too, Harry."

Harry held up his right hand, showing his bare ring finger. "I took the ring off before I left Grimmauld Place this morning. It's —"

The door opened again at that moment and an Auror Harry recognized as Henry Proudfoot stuck his head in the door. "We're ready to begin your training," he told them. "Come with me."

They followed Proudfoot through Auror Headquarters and into the corridor leading to the lift they'd come to this level in. "Where are we going?" Harry asked, as the lift doors opened.

"You'll see, soon enough," Proudfoot said shortly. "In you go," he jerked his head toward the lift, and Harry and Ron stepped into it. Proudfoot entered the lift behind them; they were the only passengers at the moment, and Harry anticipated a long, slow descent to wherever they were going, just as the ride up with Dawlish had been.

However Proudfoot, producing his wand, tapped a brass plate on the wall of the lift next to the grille. A small cover slid aside at the top of the plate, revealing a keyhole, and the Auror produced a chain with a key at the end of it. He inserted the key and turned it to the left a quarter-twist; it rotated back after a moment, and he removed the key and returned it to his robes. Harry and Ron glanced at one another as the golden grille of the lift closed and they descended smoothly and swiftly, passing floors so quickly Harry lost count of them, until they finally stopped in darkness.

After a moment low, flickering lights became visible ahead of them, somewhere outside the grille, which slid aside to let them exit the lift. Harry and Ron both looked around; neither of them recognized this floor at all. The walls were rough-cut stone, with burning braziers set in the walls, the flickering lights they had glimpsed from inside the lift.

"This way," Proudfoot pointed, stepping between them to lead the way. The corridor ran straight for some distance; there were large, wooden doors set intermittently on either side of the corridor, with no signage or other hint at what might be behind them.

"Interesting training facility you've got here," Ron remarked, attempting humor, though only Harry grinned weakly at his joke.

"We like it," Proudfoot replied evenly, seeming to take Ron's joke seriously, and Ron looked at Harry, giving a slight shrug. "Keep moving," Proudfoot added, as they turned left at a ninety-degree corner that was even more poorly-lit than the first one. Here the braziers were far apart, so that they were in near-darkness before the light ahead of them made Proudfoot's silhouette visible again. There did not seem to be any doors down this corridor, unlike the first one.

Finally, they approached a large door set in the wall directly ahead of them, and Proudfoot tapped it with his wand, making it open and leading them into another corridor, this one leading both to the left and the right of the door they'd come through. "About there now," Proudfoot said, sounding almost jovial, and led them to the right. Looking around again, trying to keep track of where they were going, Harry decided that if he didn't know better, he'd have sworn they were back in the dungeon levels of Hogwarts — this corridor reminded him greatly of the one that led to Snape's dungeon, with the same stone walls and iron brackets with flames burning within them.

"Bit creepy down here, isn't it?" Ron was looking around as well. "Sort of reminds me of the way to Snape's classroom —"

"I thought the same thing," Harry agreed.

Proudfoot, who had stopped in front of a large, dark door with an immense iron handle and lock, smirked at them. "I thought you'd remember this place, Potter," he said in a flat voice. "You've been here before, remember?"

Harry shook his head, confused. "No, I've never seen this place before…" He stopped, trying to recall when that might have been, but there was no memory of that walk from the lift. Unless he'd gotten here by another route…

"Let's see if this jogs your memory," Proudfoot said, turning the handle. He pushed the door open and stepped back. "After you."

Harry walked into the room, and once again his heart sank. He _had_ been here before, more than once! The first time was in a series of Pensieve memories he'd found in Professor Dumbledore's office, in his fourth year; the second time, he'd been here for real, during his hearing with Minister Fudge and the Wizengamot after the incident with the dementors in Little Whinging. This was Courtroom Ten!

"What the hell?" Ron, standing beside Harry, was looking around in vast confusion. "This looks like one of the courtrooms Dad and Percy have talked about, like the one you had to go to —" He saw the look on Harry's face. "_Is_ it?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded slowly.

Ron whirled around to face Proudfoot. "What's the idea?" he snapped angrily. "Is this some kind of stupid hazing ceremony or what?"

"That's not your concern," Proudfoot said, coldly. "You're here to learn, not ask questions. Or would you prefer to leave now and stop wasting our time?"

Harry examined the room carefully. It looked almost exactly as it had when he was here last, two years ago. The only difference now was, instead of the chain-covered chair in the center of the room, there was a polished black plinth with a stone basin set upon it, one that looked very similar to Dumbledore's Pensieve.

From high in the gallery a little girl's voice spoke. "Oh, I'm sure they'll want to continue, Auror Proudfoot. After all, they single-handedly saved the Ministry and Britain from the clutches of the evil Dark Lord!" Umbridge stood and walked down the gallery steps to the center of the high bench in front of Harry and Ron, staring down at them. "I can't imagine that a bit of training would scare them," she simpered. She pointed at the basin standing on the plinth before them.

"You probably recognize the Pensieve, Potter," she spoke mostly to Harry, virtually ignoring Ron from this point on. "We're going to have you enter a series of memories, a number of situations Aurors have been in against other wizards. When you're through viewing them, each of you will be given an oral examination, and you will be expected to analyze each situation and provide instances of proper and improper methods used by the Aurors.

"Some of these experiences have been staged; others were taken from real life. You should be able to pick up cues to tell which is which." Umbridge smiled, a wide, cruel grin. "Each mistake will cost you one grade level scored — a failing grade and, well, I'm afraid I won't be able to clear you for active Ministry work."

Umbridge was certainly stacking the deck in her favor, Harry thought, bitterly. But he was determined not to give up. "We're ready," he answered. "Let's go."

Umbridge gestured to Proudfoot, who stepped up to the Pensieve, taking out a vial filled with misty, silvery matter that swirled inside the bottle as he held it over the bowl of silver liquid. Without a word he unstoppered the vial and poured it into the Pensieve, then stepped back, gesturing for Harry and Ron to go ahead.

They took up positions opposite each other beside the plinth. "Ready?" Harry asked, and Ron nodded. Both of them leaned over slowly, moving their faces toward the swirling material until their noses touched it. There was a moment of blackness and disorientation as Harry felt himself seem to fall forward _into_ the Pensieve, then float slowly down into darkness that gradually became gray, then nearly white, finally resolving into a dank alleyway he had never seen before. Ron was standing next to him, looking around as if a bit dazed. Then both of their eyes locked onto the person they had landed next to, the person whose memories this must be. Ron gasped, and Harry stifled a growl of anger at Umbridge.

It was Tonks.

Nymphadora Tonks, a young Auror Harry and Ron had known only two years before her life was claimed during the final hours of the Second War with Voldemort, was carefully looking around the alleyway. Her face was fresh and young; she must just have graduated from Auror Training, Harry thought — the real Auror training given by the Ministry, not this travesty Umbridge was forcing upon them. Beside her was Kingsley Shacklebolt, also looking younger; he was explaining the situation to her, as if she had just come upon the scene.

"We've got Fletcher making contact with the suspects," Shacklebolt was saying in his slow, deep voice. "If they do have the items, we'll take both them and him down to HQ, for appearances' sake, and question the suspects there. Understood?"

"Got it," Tonks said, with a knowing smile. "No worries, Kingsley."

Kingsley nodded, and both Aurors turned to look toward the far end of the alley — presumably, Harry decided, where whatever deal that was taking place was occurring.

Seeing Tonks again like this was unsettling for Harry. He could only imagine that Umbridge had included this memory on purpose, to rattle him. Tonks had been killed by her aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, only a few months ago, during the Battle of Hogwarts. There was no telling how old these memories were, though they could not be more than four years old; Harry recalled that Tonks had qualified as an Auror in the summer of 1994.

"I can't bloody _believe_ this!" Ron was saying, angrily, as the images of Tonks and Shacklebolt stood waiting for something to happen. "How could the Aurors let Umbridge do this with Tonks' memories?"

"No idea," Harry said. He was seething as well, but determined not to let it cloud his judgment around Umbridge. _That_ had already happened often enough when he was back in school. "She's still in a position of authority over some of them — if she's in charge of training, she probably decides who to qualify or not."

"Like us," Ron added, bitterly. Harry had to nod; Ron was right, they were pretty much in Umbridge's power, and she had stacked the deck heavily against them with this farce of a training exercise. They might have to appeal to Shacklebolt and hope that he could override her unfair practices.

At that moment, in Tonks' memories, Shacklebolt nudged her and whispered, "Get ready! Something's coming!"

Tonks stared down the alleyway. "Where?" she whispered back. "I don't see —"

"A ward was crossed!" Shacklebolt hissed. "Probably invisible! Get ready to —" he staggered back suddenly, as if pushed.

Tonks spun, guessing where their unseen quarry might be. "_Stupefy_!" she shouted. The Stunner streaked away, ricocheting off the alley wall and whizzing out of view. They heard the sound of running feet, then a _clunk_ as the footfalls faded into the distance.

"Dammit," Shacklebolt swore. He strode to the end of the alley, picking up the object that had suddenly appeared there, as if by "magic." Harry and Ron looked at one another as Shacklebolt held it up, showing it to Tonks. It was a cauldron. "Looks like Fletcher gave us the slip, along with the suspect," he said, sourly. "He's long gone in the other direction."

Tonks looked sick. "What do we do?" she asked, her eyes wide. "The Head really wanted that suspect, Kingsley!"

"I'll talk to Amelia," Shacklebolt said, putting away his wand. Then noticing the look on his young partner's face, he added, "There wasn't anything more you could have done to stop him, Tonks."

"Bones may not see it that way," Tonks looked unhappy. "I can't let you take all the blame, Shack…" but the memory faded to black before she finished speaking; Harry and Ron felt themselves thrust upward, they were suddenly facing one another across the Pensieve. A wave of dizziness swept over Harry, and he grabbed the side of the plinth to keep from falling. Ron had bent over double, holding his stomach as if in pain.

"Not very pretty, was it?" A little girl's voice asked from the center bench of the gallery above them. Umbridge was watching them. "I'm not surprised such unprofessional behavior affected you so much — I know _I_ was shocked when I saw what a poor showing our current Minister of Magic made, in what should have been a routine operation. Your late friend Tonks could do with a bit more training as well, I daresay."

Harry shook his head. "W-what did y-you do to us?" he asked, unsteadily. He had seen some horrific stuff in Pensieve memories before, but they had never affected him like _this_.

"Do?" Umbridge looked surprised by the question. "I simply showed you the truth — how you react to it is up to _you_, Potter. Frankly, I'm not surprised at how easily the people you know have duped you all these years, pretending to be your friends, when all they wanted was for a bit of the Harry Potter notoriety to rub off on them."  
"T-that's not true," Harry gasped. Something _was_ wrong — Ron had collapsed on the floor. "You — you did something to the — Pensieve…" Harry fell over onto the floor as well, even as he managed to slide his wand free of his robes. As he aimed it toward Umbridge, however, Proudfoot's boot stepped on his arm, forcing it against the floor.

"You'll never prove that, Potter," Umbridge said, smoothly. "At least, you'll never be able to find any evidence to substantiate that charge."

Harry felt his wand snatched from his hand. "Bring Weasley to the other interrogation chamber," he heard her say, her voice becoming far away and indistinct as she spoke. "We'll leave Potter here, for now — we _know_ where Weasley's ring is…" That was the last thing Harry heard before his mind slipped into blackness, and silence.


	3. Cornered

**The Three Rings**

**Chapter Three  
****Cornered**

_Updated 29 October 2010_

"_Rennervate_."

Harry opened his eyes, squinting at the light shining in his face. His head was throbbing — so much so, he half-expected to find Voldemort standing in front of him, his rage and madness intruding into Harry's mind. But Voldemort was dead, he remembered now, though the man before him had the same malicious gleam in his eyes that Harry had seen in his old nemesis.

Auror Savage lowered his wand. "Welcome back, Potter," he said, with a smirk. "I trust you had a pleasant sleep."

Harry looked around. He was still in Courtroom Ten, where he and Ron had been brought for some kind of twisted Auror training mandated by Dolores Umbridge, though it was clear now that had just been a ruse to trap them. The "witness chair" was now back — which Harry could hardly have missed, since he was now chained in it, the heavy steel links wrapped around his arms, torso and legs. The stone plinth was in front of him, as before, but instead of the Pensieve Harry saw his wand and the contents of his pockets scattered across it. "Where's Ron?" he asked Savage.

"He's being questioned separately," Savage replied, shortly. "And I must say, he's making things harder on himself than necessary." Savage gave Harry an appraising look. "I expect you're a bit smarter than that, Potter — are you going to tell us where your ring is, or will we have to take this interrogation up a notch?"

Harry glanced at the plinth. His wallet was there, though it appeared no one had tried to open it. Well, he certainly wasn't going to tell them where it was! "I _told_ Ron he should have left his ring at my house, too," he said.

"So it's at your house," Savage said. "Where?"

"I gave it to my house-elf to hide," Harry replied. "So I wouldn't know where it was."

Savage nodded, mildly impressed. "Not bad, kid; Shacklebolt was right — you can think like an Auror. So what do you think will happen when we go to your house and tell your house-elf to hand over the ring?"

"He won't," Harry shook his head. "He's been ordered to give it only to me."

Savage chuckled. "Of course he has. So what happens when I show up, Polyjuiced to look like you, and order him to give it to me?"

Harry had anticipated that question. "He's not going to go by appearance alone — even Scrimgeour knew enough two years ago to institute recognition passwords amongst Ministry personnel and their families."

"My, you're a clever Dick, aren't you?" Savage sneered. "We can get those codes out of you, of course." Harry said nothing, but allowed himself a small smile.

Savage noticed it. "Oh, does that thought make you happy, Potter?"

Harry shrugged, as if his momentary lapse was of no consequence, but he didn't meet Savage's eyes — purposefully, to give Savage the impression he was not being truthful.

Savage turned away and walked back and forth across the courtroom floor, seemingly deep in thought. When he stepped back in front of Harry, he said, "I wonder if you're even more clever than I initially gave you credit for — let's say you gave your house-elf code words, but told him if certain words were used, it would signify that you'd been captured. We'd have to tear your house apart to find that ring, Potter—" the Auror jabbed a finger at Harry in affected anger. "Don't think we won't!" Harry looked properly worried (and of course, as he was currently being held in chains in Courtroom Ten, he _was_!), though this time he did not let the smile reach his lips.

Savage rubbed his chin, appearing uncertain what to do next. Suddenly he blurted, "I'll be right back!" and left the courtroom. _Good_, Harry thought. _I've got at least one Auror unsure what his next move should be_!

With any luck, they'd unchain him in order to bring him to Grimmauld Place, to fetch his ring. Harry hoped he could find a way to escape from his captors, get his wallet and his wand, and get the Lightning Ring on his finger. Once that was done, he figured, he would be able to do pretty much whatever he wanted to.

His first order of business, once free, was to find and free Ron as well, wherever he was. If his ring had been removed, they would have to get that back, too. Then, they would have to get to the Burrow, get Hermione out of there, and then figure out their next move. Harry wished he knew how the Ministry had been tipped off about the rings. Could they have been watching Ollivander, suspecting him of holding the three ancient artifacts that dated to before Merlin himself? Harry didn't know how that could be true — Ollivander himself hadn't seemed to know the contents of the chest he'd given them, before they showed them to him.

Savage returned, this time with Proudfoot, the Auror who'd brought him and Ron down to Courtroom Ten… how long ago? Harry had no idea how much time had passed, though he felt rather hungry, now that he thought about it. It had to have been several hours, at least, since they'd been brought here.

"We're going to release you," Proudfoot said, without preamble, "and accompany you back to your residence, where you will retrieve the ring from the house-elf."

"What if I refuse?" Harry asked, mutinously.

"That would not be wise," Savage warned him. "We have been ordered to obtain that ring by any means necessary."

"How did you find out about the rings anyway?" Harry wanted to know.

Proudfoot and Savage looked at one another, both of them grinning. "Let's just say," Proudfoot told him, "that one of your _ex_-Order members thought he'd make a bit of extra gold by informing the Ministry what he saw going on the other night at Ollivander's.

Harry's mouth tightened in anger. The Auror could only mean Mundungus Fletcher, who'd been expelled from the order after abandoning Mad-Eye Moody, who was killed by Voldemort on the night he escaped from number four, Privet Drive, just before his seventeenth birthday. They had even _seen_ him, in the Leaky Cauldron, when they were leaving Diagon Alley! "You're saying _he_ gave us up?"

"Like a bad habit," Proudfoot quipped. "Don't worry, Potter — he was well-paid for his efforts. Now we have Weasley's ring, and soon enough we'll have yours, and the girl's as well."

Something suddenly struck Harry. "How did you get the ring off Ron's finger?" he wanted to know. "He put a Permanent Sticking Charm on it."

"Yes, that _was_ a a bother," Savage answered, blandly. "I suppose we could have taken the time to reverse the spell, but there was a much quicker solution."

Realization, and horror, washed across Harry's face. "You didn't —"

"Don't be thick, Potter, of _course_ we did!" Proudfoot snapped. "You're not messing around with schoolboys any more." He removed a small, cloth-covered object from his pocket. One end of the cloth was stained red. Proudfoot unfolded the cloth, showing Harry the ring inside — still on Ron's finger. "Don't worry," he said, smirking at the look of horror on Harry's face. "It can be reattached — as soon as you hand over _your_ ring, Potter."

Harry shook his head, shuddering with revulsion. "You bloody bastards!" he breathed, furious with anger at the Aurors, and wincing with empathy for Ron.

"Mind your tongue, kid," Savage said, drawing his wand and hitting Harry with a Stinging Hex. Harry grunted in pain, but he still glared hatefully at the two men who had mutilated his friend. He would have to get that finger back and get Ron to St. Mungo's so they could reattach the digit, before it was too late.

At that moment the door to the courtroom opened and a fat, toadlike smile entered the room, followed by the fat, toadlike woman it was attached to. Dolores Umbridge looked around the room; her eyes falling at last on Harry, and she seemed to smile even more broadly.

"Well, Mr. Potter," she said, in her little-girl voice, a voice that nevertheless carried with a promise of true menace. "I think it's about time for you to let us have that ring, don't you?"

"He doesn't have it, ma'am," Savage interjected. "We've discovered it's at his residence, being kept by his house-elf, with orders to give it only to him."

"Hmph," Umbridge looked irritated. "Well, he's not a complete idiot, then, though I had my doubts when he let us bring him and Weasley down to this room." She turned to Harry. "I've been off to visit your friend Hermione Granger," she said, with a small, simpering laugh.

"You better not have hurt her —" Harry snarled, threateningly.

Umbridge laughed unpleasantly. "Don't worry, Potter — she's fine." She stepped over to Proudfoot, holding out her hand. "Give me the finger," she said, and the Auror handed it to her, smirking at her unintended humor as he did so. She held it up, examining it for a moment, before looking back at Harry. "I'm afraid I can't say the same for your friend Weasley, however."

"Then take the damned ring!" Harry said, nearly shouting. His voice echoed oddly in the near-empty chamber. "Just get Ron to St. Mungo's so they can reattach his finger!"

"We will," Umbridge said, indifferently. "After we get _your_ ring, Potter."

"Fine," Harry said, trembling with anger. "Your men were about to release me so we could go get it."

Umbridge held up a finger (her own, not Ron's) "First things first," she said, then handed the cloth back to Proudfoot. "Hold the finger," she told him, I'll remove the ring. Granger told me the counter spell, since she taught the charm to Weasley in the first place." Proudfoot gingerly picked up Ron's digit, holding it by the tip, while Umbridge pointed her wand at the ring, muttering under her breath. There was a flash of blue light, and the ring dropped off the bloody end of Ron's finger and onto the cloth.

Umbridge picked up the ring, running her wand around it as she said, "_Tergeo_," to siphon off the dried blood. She then held it up, examining it carefully.

Harry, who had watched all this in silent revulsion, now asked, "What about Hermione's ring?"

"Oh, you needn't worry your little head about that," Umbridge said, dismissively, stepping over to stand next to the chair Harry was chained to. "It's taken care of."

Harry grimaced. That could only mean that they had Hermione's ring as well! Umbridge leaned over, leering at him from only inches away. "You can see how hopeless it is for you, Potter. Better to give up now, while you've still got all your fingers. Ah!" She looked down at the back of his hand. "I see you still have the reminder I gave you a few years ago…" She reached down and lifted his hand slightly, examining the scars on the back that said, "_I must not tell lies_."

Harry was about to retort angrily when he felt something slip onto one of his fingers. Looking down, he saw that Umbridge had put Ron's ring on him! He glanced up at her, astonished, but Umbridge merely shook her head, almost imperceptibly. She looked around at the two Aurors. "Leave us. I want to have a few words in private with the boy."

Savage and Proudfoot looked at one another in surprise. "Ma'am, you told us that no one was to be alone with Potter other than one of us — not even _you_."

"And now I'm telling you I can," Umbridge replied, testily. She jerked her head toward the door. "Go."

But Proudfoot held out his hand. "Yes, ma'am, but I'll need the ring before we go."

Umbridge turned around, one hand clenched in a fist as if the ring were still in it. "I haven't finished looking at it, yet."

"You're not thinking of _keeping_ it, are you?" Savage suggested. "After all the trouble you've gone to, procuring these rings for the Ministry, it's certainly not going to look good for you to try and keep one."

"Don't be ridiculous," Umbridge snapped. "Why would I jeopardize my agreement with — _Relashio_!" She spun around suddenly, pointing her wand at the chains binding Harry, which fell away, then turned back toward the two Aurors, both of whom were hastily drawing their own wands.

With his arms free, Harry's ring hand immediately shot into the air. There was a thunderous BOOM as a brilliant flash of light lit the room. At the same moment Umbridge fell to the floor, hit by a Stunning Charm from Savage. As Harry leaped from the chair, a red bolt from Proudfoot caught him in the chest.

It stung some, but the spell was not nearly powerful enough to stun him now. Harry ran at Proudfoot, grappling with him momentarily before lifting him bodily and throwing him at Savage. Proudfoot slammed into his partner and both men slid across the stone floor and into the front row of benches. Running back to the plinth, Harry grabbed his wand and wallet, then turned back to Umbridge, who lay crumpled on the floor next to the chair Harry had been bound to.

He was tempted to simply find Ron and get him to the hospital, but he might never have another chance to ask the question: _Why_ had Umbridge put the ring on his finger? Harry pointed his wand at her. "_Rennervate_," he said, and Umbridge slowly opened her eyes.

When she saw Harry, she grimaced in anger. "What the _hell_ are you doing, Potter?" she demanded. "Why am I on the floor? And _how_ did you get free?"

"You did it," Harry told her, almost smiling at the look of shock on her face at that revelation. He showed her the ring on his finger. "You also put this ring on my finger and attacked your Auror friends so I could invoke its power. Why did you do that?"

"I have no idea what you're babbling about," Umbridge said, coldly. Harry could see her eyes trying to locate her short, stubby wand. "You won't get away with this, Potter —"

"Watch me," Harry said, and Stunned her again. It was strange, he thought: given the way she'd been acting, Harry might have figured Umbridge had been Imperiused, but he doubted that Hermione would have used one of the Unforgivable Curses, even on her. But anything was possible, he guessed, especially if Hermione had felt cornered or Umbridge tried to take the Green Ring from her by force. Harry hoped this meant she still had the ring.

For now, though, Harry still had to get out of the Ministry with Ron and his finger, and get them to St. Mungo's. He went over to where the two Aurors lay, searching through Proudfoot's robes for the cloth that held Ron's digit. He had found it, in an inside pocket in the Auror's robes, when a hand clamped weakly on his wrist.

"Whrr dyur thing'ur goon?" Proudfoot slurred, still dazed from the collision with Savage.

"Out of here," Harry said shortly. He easily shook off the Auror's hand, then carefully wrapped Ron's finger in the cloth once again.

"Thur's no way oudda 'ere," Proudfoot told him. "You'll never be able t' beat alla uss."

"Don't be too sure about that," Harry retorted. He stood and sent a Stunner into Proudfoot, knocking him out again, then did the same to Savage, for good measure. Harry then strode to the door, but stopped before he went out into the hallway beyond, thinking.

If he could find Ron before the Auror Department rumbled to his escape, he could probably smash his way out with the strength of Hercules. But if he had to face all the Aurors in the Ministry, a number that could range at any time from ten to two dozen. If that was the case, Harry decided, he would need an edge.

He pulled out his wallet, stroking it along the side to open it, then took the Lightning Ring out of the hidden pouch and slipped it onto his other ring finger. For a moment he considered invoking the power of Sha-Za-Mo, but he decided to wait until the situation called for it. He didn't want anyone here to see him in his Sha-Za-Mo induced form, and anyway, he didn't exactly intend on tearing the place apart to find Ron (though he would if he had to!).

Stepping cautiously into the stone corridor beyond the door, Harry came to another large, iron-clad door further down from Courtroom Ten. He tried _Alohomora_ on the door, but it did not unlock. Shrugging, Harry put his shoulder into the door, breaking it open easily. It was another, smaller courtroom, and empty as well. A similar door a few feet further along the corridor yielded the same results. _Where_ would they have put Ron if not in another room on this level?

As he stepped out of the second courtroom, Harry caught the sound of footsteps rapidly descending the stone steps at the far end of the corridor. He stepped back into the doorway, watching as several Aurors took up positions behind stone columns near the stairs. They couldn't see him from their position at the end of the corridor.

One Auror began cautiously moving up the corridor, moving from the shelter of one doorway to the next. Harry could hear soft clicks and the creak of hinges; the Auror was checking the locked rooms to see if he was hiding in one of them. The other men were silent, so they were probably using hand signals to communicate.

Harry dithered; he could step out of the doorway and begin Stunning them, trusting the strength of Hercules to keep himself from being Stunned in turn until all of the Aurors were knocked out. But if they disarmed him, somehow, or some other spell incapacitated him, their escape was sunk. Really, the simplest solution was to use the Lightning Ring, but Harry wanted to avoid revealing how to use it if he could. If even one Auror heard him say "Sha-Za-Mo" they could reconstruct the scene in a Pensieve. Hopefully, they hadn't forced Ron to reveal _that_ secret yet!

"You can stop wasting time," Harry said loudly, his mouth close to the edge of the doorway. "I'm further down the corridor!"

"Potter," one of the Aurors said, in a commanding voice. "You may as well give up — there is no way for you to escape!"

_We'll see about that_, Harry thought. Aurors liked to negotiate, if necessary, from a position of strength. He'd see how they liked a taste of their own medicine. "I have Ron's ring," he told them. "You know what _that_ means, don't you? I have the strength of Hercules — I can tear this place apart to find him and get him and myself out of here, if need be." He fell silent for a few seconds, letting them mull that thought over.

"But that's _not_ what I want to do," he went on. "Give me Ron and let us leave the Ministry. We'll contact the Minister and set up a meeting to sort this all out. Nobody else has to get hurt."

After a moment, the Auror's voice asked, "What did you do to Savage and Proudfoot?" Harry noticed there was no questions about Umbridge.

"They're both Stunned," Harry said. _And a bit banged up_, he added to himself, but no need to admit that just now. "I left them back in Courtroom —"

A barrage of red bolts suddenly shot at Harry from directly across the corridor, hitting him in the side and chest. One Stunner had been a minor annoyance — but a dozen or so was _very_ irritating. Harry grunted at the impacts, then slashed his wand in the direction the bolts had come from, shouting "_Depulso_!" He was rewarded by the sound of several bodies, apparently Disillusioned, thudding against the opposite wall as the Banishment Charm threw them back, then falling to the floor.

Another bolt struck him, and Harry immediately shouted, "_Protego_!" erecting a Shield between him and the invisible Aurors that were still conscious. He urged the Shield outward, pressing anyone still standing against it and the corridor wall. He could feel them struggling against the surface of the Shield, but his increased strength must also be increasing his magic, because their struggles were barely noticeable.

Still, this only brought things to an impasse. Harry couldn't drop the Shield — the Aurors who weren't knocked out by the Shield would attack again, and he didn't know what kind of spells they might throw since their Stunners had proved ineffective against him. And he couldn't fight them directly while they were invisible. The only thing he could think to do was…retreat.

Harry backed into the room of the doorway he was in. In one motion he dropped his Shield and pointed it at the broken door, casting _Reparo_ wordlessly. Before the Aurors could recover, he pushed the door closed, then cast an Unbreakable Charm on the door and hinges, and added a Permanent Sticking Charm between the door and its frame. That would force the Aurors to either break down the walls (which he believed were warded against such actions, to prevent prisoners from escaping) or they'd have to Portkey in (which they were unlikely to do, because Harry would have the advantage of being able to strike indiscriminately, while they might harm or kill one another accidentally).

Harry had no intention of harming anyone — at least, until they tried to harm him first, which Umbridge and the Aurors had definitely tried to do! He took up a vantage point in the first row of benches directly facing the door, listening to the confused jumble of voices on the other side of the door. It would be nice to have some Extendable Ears right now, Harry thought… He hadn't made the door Imperturbable, but neither had the Aurors thought to. Harry could catch snatches of conversation.

"…_six_ Aurors couldn't bring him down, what do we do…"

"…Shacklebolt's not going to give permission for the Unforgiveables…"

"…anyone check on Savage or Proudfoot yet? No, I _don't_ want to hear their excuses…"

"…we should go to Potter's house, find that ring…"

"…house-elf won't give it to anyone but _him_…"

"…apply enough pressure and _anyone_ will talk, even a house-elf!"

Harry was not pleased to hear that type of talk. Had he brought down the wrath of the Auror Department on Kreacher? It was another reason to get out of here as fast as possible.

At that moment, one of the Aurors yelled through the door, "Potter! Can you hear me?"

"Yeah!" Harry yelled back. "And my house-elf will never talk, even if you kill him! You're just going to make Aurors look more like a bunch of bullies than they already do!"

"You can stop this now by surrendering!" the Auror who seemed to be in charge yelled through the door. "We have orders to take you, by any means necessary!"

"Yeah, that really scares me, can you tell?" Harry shouted back, defiantly.

"You're not in a position to bargain, Potter," the Auror told him. "You're cut off from any food, and if we stop the magical heating to that room the temperature will drop to near freezing. We can sit out here as long as you can in there!"

_That was the problem_, Harry realized. Time was a luxury he didn't have right now. Time to try a bluff…

"Let me talk to Ron," Harry shouted. "I want to know that he's safe. If I know that, we can discuss some terms." The "terms" being, when they brought Ron down to this level, Harry would rush the door, grab Ron, then run up the stairs to the Department of Mysteries. If he could lose the Aurors for a moment, he could invoke the Lightning Ring, then give Ron his Hercules Ring and they could make their escape at super-speed.

"Weasley's here now," the Auror said, surprisingly. Harry wished he could see through the door.

"Prove it," Harry said.

"Fine," the Auror said, and his remark was followed by a blood-curdling scream. _What the hell did they just do_? Harry thought, tensely.

The scream subsided, and after a moment the Auror spoke again. "Did you hear him just now, Potter?"

"Ron wouldn't scream like that," Harry stated. _Well, he would_, Harry knew, but he needed to hear Ron's normal voice. "I want to hear him speak to me, not scream."

There was several seconds of silence, the Ron's voice came weakly through the door. "It's me, Harry, but they —" his voice cut off suddenly.

"They _what_?" Harry asked, anxiously. He jumped the first row onto the courtroom floor. "Ron, answer me!"

"Enough of this mucking about," a new voice said, angrily. Harry recognized it as John Dawlish. "Potter, if we don't get that ring from you, _now_, I'm going to order Weasley be Portkeyed somewhere you'll never find him, and _Crucio_ed until you give it up. On the count of three — one! Two! Thr—"

"All right!" Harry said, not knowing what else to do. "I give up!"

"Unlock this door and roll the ring out to us."

Harry _Finite_d the Unbreakable and Permanent Sticking Charms, then unlocked and waved the door open with his wand. Dawlish was standing in plain view of the doorway. Behind him, Harry could see Ron being held by two burly Aurors. His face looked flushed, nearly purple, and Harry grimaced thinking of the pain he must be in. He made a show of taking the Hercules Ring off his right ring finger and holding it up with his right hand, then tossing it onto the floor so that it landed at Dawlish's feet.

Dawlish stooped, picking it up, and examined it carefully. "Now," he said, looking Harry in the eye, "to see if you gave us the real one." He held his hand in the air. There was a BOOM and a flash of lightning — everyone in the corridor but Dawlish flinched. Dawlish grinned triumphantly.

"Now, your wand," Dawlish said, gesturing for Harry to throw it, but Harry leaned forward, sliding the wand on the floor as well, not taking his eyes from Dawlish. Behind him, he could see Ron shaking his head, trying to stop Harry from giving up his wand, but there was nothing Harry could do. If they Portkeyed Ron away while he was this distance from him, he could never reach him in time. He would have to get closer—

"I'm glad you've finally started toeing the line, Potter," Dawlish said, bending over to pick up Harry's wand. He held it in both hands in front of himself. "Too bad you did so too late to save your career." He bent Harry's wand in his hand until it snapped with a loud CRACK and a shower of golden sparks.

Harry jerked with surprise at the Auror's sudden (and illegal) action — no one could be deprived of their wand without being convicted and sentenced to life in Azkaban Prison — new laws by Shacklebolt's Ministry had seen to that! But that hadn't stopped Dawlish from doing it. He suppressed a growl of rage at the destruction of his wand. How could they have been Ministry darlings one day, then little more than criminals the next, all for these rings? Harry had been willing to use them in the Ministry's service — and hadn't he, Ron and Hermione made it possible for them to be useful to the Ministry in the first place? It was only fair that they be allowed to keep them!

Dawlish had turned to his men. "Take Weasley up to level two — I'll be there after I take care of this one." The men nodded and hustled off with Ron in tow, leaving only Dawlish and several Healers who were taking care of unconscious Aurors.

"Now," Dawlish said roughly, stepping through the doorway into the room. "You're coming with me, Potter — and if I get even a _hint_ that you're going to be uncooperative, you're going to get a pounding I _promise_ you'll never forget!"

"Thanks for the warning," Harry said. "But you're going to have to beat me unconscious to get me to come with you. And _that_," he added, bringing his left hand forward and up, so Dawlish could see the Lightning Ring on his finger, "is going to be harder than you think. _Sha-Za-Mo_!"

A thunderous BOOM shook the room as the magic lightning struck Harry with a blinding flash of light, and even Dawlish flinched and covered his eyes. When he looked again, Harry had been replaced by his adult, muscular counterpart, glaring angrily at the Auror from across the courtroom floor.

Dawlish shook his gray, short-cropped head at the marvel Harry had become. "Poor form, Potter," he said scornfully. "Poor form! Lying to your superiors — you had that ring all along!"

"Ask somebody who cares," Harry sneered. Now, with the speed of Mercury, he could remove the ring from Dawlish's finger, grab Ron, and get out of the Ministry to find Hermione. He flashed forward, grabbing the Auror's arm, and pulled up his hand to reach for the ring —

— and Dawlish grabbed his arm and twisted, throwing Harry off-balance, and he and the burly Auror crashed to the floor, wrestling for control. Harry found that he was not very good at wrestling — the large Auror kept locking his arms in each other, twisting them and keeping Harry on the defensive. Their strength was equal — both rings being active at the same time had seen to that — but Dawlish had training that Harry lacked.

They both struggled to their feet, Harry trying to break away, to use his fists, but Dawlish was expert at anticipating his moves, even with Harry's superior speed. The few times Harry connected, Dawlish rolled with the blows, grappling with Harry and bulldozing him into a wall or bench, until half the room was littered with the debris of shattered benches. Dawlish was also throwing rabbit punches into Harry's sides and the back of his head — Harry was beginning to see stars, in spite of his strength and invulnerability. If he didn't somehow turn this around quickly, Dawlish _would_ knock him out, and all would be lost.

Finally grabbing Harry in a bear hug, Dawlish threw him to the ground, landing on top of him, and pressed an arm across his throat. "Surrender!" he hissed, as Harry vainly tried to push his arm away. "Turn back to Potter — say the word — I know that's how the Ring works! _Do it_!"

Harry, barely able to breathe, suddenly realized the lightning would strike from above him — which was exactly where Dawlish was. What would happen if it hit _him_ first? Harry had nothing to lose by finding out. "_Sha-Za-Mo_!" he gasped.

Dawlish screamed in agony as the magic lightning struck him full in the back, his body jerking spasmodically, and released his hold on Harry. He started to roll off, but Harry grabbed him by the arms and shouted "_Sha-Za-Mo_!" again, and the magic lightning blasted Dawlish once more. Dawlish moaned in agony, but Harry couldn't resist shouting the word one more time, feeling the Auror jerk helplessly in his grip as the lightning hit him again. For good measure, he pushed Dawlish upward, so the man rose a few feet in the air; then, as he started to fall back down Harry pulled his legs against his chest and kicked upward, sending the Auror slamming against the stone ceiling of the courtroom, then falling to the floor, unconscious. Harry staggered to his feet, then reached down and slid the ring from Dawlish's finger. He slid it onto his own empty ring finger, feeling a surge of renewed energy as he did so. The full strength of Hercules was with him again!

Harry stepped into the corridor; the Healers there were backing fearfully away from him, motioning for him to stay away. Ignoring them, Harry dashed up the corridors, ascended the stairs, and stopped in front of the lift. He pressed the button, but could hear no sounds of motion coming from the shaft. They must have restricted access to the lifts.

That wasn't going to be a problem for Harry, though. He grabbed the golden grille and tore it away like tinfoil. Stepping into the shaft, Harry flew straight up until he slammed through the bottom of the lift. He glanced up at the floor indicator — they were on the second level, where the Magical Law Enforcement Department was located. The grille on this level was closed as well but it was no problem, either. Moving down the corridor, Harry stopped in the doorway that led to Auror HQ.

There were over a dozen Aurors still in HQ, and all of them had wand out and pointed at Harry. "You know," Harry told them. "I don't want any trouble — really, I don't. But if you lot don't hand over Ron Weasley to me and let us leave, I'm going to start taking this place apart until I find him. And you _don't_ want that."

No one moved for several seconds. Several Aurors glanced furtively at one another, looking to see who was going to take initiative. Finally, one older man whom Harry didn't recognize pointed his wand straight up. A Patronus shot out of it, what looked like a small dog of some type, and flew upward through the ceiling.

The Auror lowered his wand, looking at Harry. "The Weasley boy will be brought to you shortly," he said, in a faltering voice.

"Good," Harry said, then gave the group an amused glance. "You can put away your wands, now," he told them. "I'm not going to do anything if you don't. Go on, put them away." Slowly a few men complied, then the rest of them lowered their wands. Harry relaxed a bit. They might be able to get out of this without further incident.

A minute or so later Harry heard the sound of a lift stopping on their floor. The golden grille moved aside and three people stepped out: Ron, his face looking ashen, with his hand bandaged; Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, a tall, black man with a calm demeanor; and, to Harry's surprise, Ron's father, Arthur Weasley. They stood in front of the lift, apparently waiting for Harry to join them. He turned and walked down the corridor toward the three of them.

"Minister, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, nodding toward both of them, then looked at Ron with concern. "All right there, Ron? How's your hand doing?"

"Hurts," Ron said, holding it up carefully. "I just hope one of those Aurors still has it — I don't fancy having to regrow a new ring finger."

"I've got it," Harry told him. "We'll get you to St. Mungo's as soon as possible."

The Minister spoke up. "I, too, would like for Ron to be taken care of, Harry — but we must first settle the matter of the Rings. I take it you have the Ring of Sha-Za-Mo on right now — where is the Ring of Hercules?"

Harry held up his right hand, showing them the H-Ring. "I still don't get what all this was about, sir," he said, trying to maintain his respect for everything Kingsley had accomplished for the Ministry in the past few months. He had provided guidance for the Wizarding world as they rebuilt Hogwarts after the climactic battle there where so many people, Death Eaters, students and member of the Order of the Phoenix alike, had perished. "Why didn't you just ask us about the Rings, instead of setting Umbridge on us?" Harry suddenly saw another possibility. "Or was she acting without your authorization?"

Instead of answering, Kingsley glanced down the corridor, where several of the Aurors had gathered, watching the discussion in front of the lift. "Why don't we go to my office? If you please, Harry," Kingsley gestured to the lift, and Harry nodded and stepped inside, followed by Ron, his father, and the Minister.

The four of them rode in silence to the first level, where the offices of the Minister and other high-ranking officials of the Ministry were located. Harry and Ron followed the Minister and Ron's father to the Minister's office, a spacious but Spartan looking room, filled with only a desk and a few extra chairs. Gesturing for everyone to take a seat, Shacklebolt waited calmly while Harry sat down, looking around at the room; he'd never been here before, in spite of the fact that he'd had several talks with Shacklebolt over his and Ron's coming to the Auror Department after they finished helping the Hogwarts staff make the castle ready for the upcoming school year.  
Harry finally turned to look at Shacklebolt. "Well?" he said rudely, as if he'd been waiting for the Minister to speak all this time. "What's this all about, then? Why are your men treating Ron and me like a pair of criminals?" He remembered something else. "Dawlish even _broke_ _my_ _wand_, a direct violation of your new law about a wizard's rights to own one!

"Yeah," Ron piped up. "They broke mine as well, even before they did this!" he held up his bandaged hand. "And this has gotta be illegal as well, cutting off my bloody finger just to get a ring from me!"

Shacklebolt ignored their discourtesy. "A few days ago," he began, "we received information that several magical artifacts, each of great power, had been activated. When we learned that the origin point had been Mr. Ollivander's wand shop —"

"From Mundungus Fletcher, right?" Harry interrupted, in a demanding tone.

"— we were understandably worried," the Minister finished, as if Harry had not spoken. "After all, Ollivander has been privy to other information concerning items and effects of great power: the _Priori Incatatem_ effect of brother wands, knowledge of the Elder Wand, that led Voldemort to seek it out from its previous owner, Gellert Grindelwald, who apparently knew where it was even though he'd been imprisoned in Nurmengard for over 50 years, as Voldemort came into possession of it shortly after he murdered Grindelwald in prison; and, of course, the Three Rings that he gave to you, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

"I don't see your point," Harry told him. "You've just said Mr. Ollivander had the Rings all this time — he told us they'd been in his family for perhaps a thousand years. Surely that establishes him as the owner, and he gave the box containing them to the three of us freely, as he felt he should."

"That is beyond dispute," Shacklebolt nodded slowly, folding his hands together on his desk in a gesture vaguely reminiscent of Dumbledore's steepled fingers. "Ollivander also warned the three of you of a potential danger in possessing whatever was in the chest he gave you, did he not? The potential for disaster was quite substantial, from what he said."

"Yeah," Harry said, in a dismissive manner. "But nothing bad has happened to the three of us." Ron sat up in surprise, looking first at Harry then at his bandaged hand. "Well," Harry hastily amended. "Nothing like a _curse_ or anything like that."

"Curses can sometimes be quite complex, Harry," Shacklebolt reminded him. "They do not always work swiftly or obviously, as for example the curse Professor Dumbledore suffered the effects of when he put on Marvolo Gaunt's ring." _That_ curse, Harry remembered, would have killed Dumbledore within minutes if he had not returned to Hogwarts to have Professor Snape contain the curse within his right hand. As it was, the curse was slowly killing him; he might not have last more than a year after receiving it if he hadn't conspired with Snape to end his life before the curse could kill him. What only Harry, Ron and Hermione knew, however, was that Dumbledore had been the last owner of the Elder Wand, and it had been his intent to break its power by dying without being defeated. His agreement with Snape would have worked had Draco Malfoy not Disarmed Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower in an abortive attempt to kill him; something, it turned out, Draco was not prepared to do.

But Dumbledore _had_ been defeated, nonetheless, and Malfoy unknowingly became master of the Elder Wand, a wand he never possessed or even touched, until he was himself defeated by Harry months later in Malfoy Manor, when Harry took three wands from him, including Malfoy's own hawthorn wand. Mastery of the Elder Wand passed to Harry, in a way no one could have anticipated, but which saved Harry's life when Voldemort tried to use the wand to kill him. The wand refused to kill its master, and Voldemort's final Killing Curse rebounded from Harry once again and struck the Dark Lord, destroying him utterly and with finality.

Remembering all this, Harry said only, "I understand all that, Minister, but what I _don't_ understand is why you didn't just have us come in and talk about it, instead of having me and Ron blindsided by Umbridge and a couple of your Aurors."

"I take responsibility for the mishandling of your debriefing, Harry," Shacklebolt admitted. "Dolores Umbridge was the Ministry person approached —"

"By Fletcher," Harry interrupted again, still angry about that part.

"Yes," Shacklebolt agreed, curtly. "He was trying to curry favor in the Ministry —"

"With _Umbridge_?" Harry snorted, disbelievingly. "Isn't she on double-secret probation or some other such nonsense? Why she's still with the Ministry at all is a mystery to me!"

"'Keep your friends close,'" Shacklebolt quoted, "'and your enemies closer.' We have been watching her activities for the past few months in order to determine if she has communicated with former Death Eaters, and what the content of such communications were, if any."

"And has she?" prompted Harry.

"At the moment, that information remains privileged," Shacklebolt stated. Mr. Weasley shifted in his chair, looking uneasy, and Harry glanced at him for a moment, as did Ron. When Harry did not look pleased by that comment, the Minister added, "I'm sure that you understand the need to minimize rumors, Harry — after all, _you_ were the target of several quite vicious rumors over the years. And this administration values the notion of presumed innocence."

"Except in our case, right?" Harry gestured to Ron and himself.

Mr. Weasley spoke up for the first time. "Harry, that's not being very fair. The Minister is not trying to punish you — he's trying to protect as many people, both wizards and Muggles, as he can —"

"Thank you, Arthur," Shacklebolt held up a hand, forestalling further comment from Mr. Weasley. He turned back to Harry. "We want the Department of Mysteries to study the Rings in detail, to determine if the curse Mr. Ollivander spoke of is real, and if so, whether it can be lifted so the Rings can be safely used for the benefit of Wizarding Britain, And the rest of the world, of course," he added, a moment later.

"And where does that leave the three of us?" Harry wanted to know. "Assuming you'd actually _asked_ us to give up the Rings, were you planning on giving them back to us once you determined they were safe to use?"

Shacklebolt gave Harry an even look. "We would have given you and young Mr. Weasley due consideration in the matter," he said, in his slow, deep voice. "Considering also your performance in the Auror Department in the intervening period, of course."

Harry glanced at Ron, who gave him an almost imperceptible shrug with an expression of skepticism on his face. Harry had come to the same conclusion. "I'm guessing that's a 'no,' then," he said, dryly.

Shacklebolt looked mildly annoyed at the remark. "Harry, that's a premature conclusion. I recommended you and Ron for Auror positions, even without the necessary qualifications, because of the outstanding contributions you made toward saving Wizarding Britain from Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Don't sully that accomplishment with petty, selfish posturing over things you shouldn't be dealing with in the first place."

"Wait a minute," Ron spoke up again. "Are you saying we don't deserve to have these Rings, even though the only reason anyone even _knows_ about them is because of us, and because _we_ managed to open the chest containing them?"

"Ron, that's out of line," Mr. Weasley said, severely. "These Rings could be very dangerous for anyone possessing them!"

"Maybe," Ron replied, not sounding at all convinced by that claim, "but it seems like a pretty convenient thing for the Ministry to say!"

"And what about Hermione?" Harry added. "Even _assuming_ you let me or Ron keep our Rings once you verified them, what about hers? She's going back to Hogwarts this year, not coming to work for the Ministry."

Shacklebolt stared at Harry for several long seconds. Finally, he sighed. "Harry, the Green Ring is potentially the most powerful artifact we have ever discovered. In good conscience, for the safety of everyone in Britain, wizard and Muggle alike, we could not allow a non-Ministry person to keep such a powerful object. We will have to confiscate the Ring from her, and yours and Ron's from you as well."

Harry stood. In his transformed state, he towered over everyone else in the room, even Shacklebolt, who was himself well over six feet tall. "What makes you think you're going to get it from her?" he asked, in a defiant tone. "Even Umbridge couldn't get it from her."

Kingsley had stood as well. Reaching slowly into his jacket, he took out his wand and pointed it toward the office door. A lynx Patronus burst from the end of the wand and passed through the door. Ron and Mr. Weasley stood as well, and the four men stood in silence for several seconds; Harry wondered who the Minister had sent the Patronus to.

A minute later there was a knock on the door, and it opened to reveal a very scared-looking Hermione standing between two Aurors — one a burly male, the other a tall, Amazon-like woman with black hair and bright blue eyes. Hermione was staring at Harry with a pleading look in her eyes. As he looked at her, surprised, he saw her mouth the words, "I'm sorry!" to him.

"About the Green Ring, Harry," Shacklebolt said, turning to him and holding up his right hand. "We already have it." Harry saw the ring gleaming on the Minister's ring finger. "And — I am not overstating the ring's power: it is more than capable of defeating you. Unless you surrender both your and Mr. Weasley's rings immediately, I shall be forced to take them from you."


	4. The Potter Solution

**The Three Rings**

**Chapter Four  
****The Potter Solution**

_Published 26 November 2010_

Harry stared at Shacklebolt and the Green Ring glowing brightly on his finger. "I — I can't believe it's come to this, Minister," he said in his deep, adult voice. "I thought you trusted us."

Shacklebolt wore an expression of disappointment. "Trust is for small children and fools, Harry," he said, shaking his head. "You should be old enough, and experienced enough, to know that by now."

Harry looked over at Hermione, who was still staring at him, shaking her head and mouthing the words "I'm sorry," over and over again. He shook his head slightly — _it's not your fault_, his look said, before he turned back to Shacklebolt. "Maybe," he said, grudgingly. "But maybe I just misjudged you, Minister — I thought you were going to be different than Fudge or Scrimgeour. Obviously, I was wrong about that, too."

Shacklebolt's eyes narrowed. "No, Harry, you weren't wrong — we were both naïve when we got into this Ministry business. I quickly discovered that being Minister of Magic is not for the timid, nor for the indecisive. I had hoped to usher in a new era for the Ministry, a new beginning to build upon the Dark Lord's ending.

"But that was a fool's errand. It will take a long time, even _with_ the Rings, to change things in Britain so we can live safely among the Muggles, who encroach closer and closer on our lives every day. Soon we may have to leave the cities entirely and take up a permanently rustic lifestyle, or find ways to hide ourselves even more securely than we do now." At Harry's skeptical expression Shacklebolt remarked, "You don't believe me? You would be surprised to learn how many Muggles witnessed the Battle of Hogwarts alone. I'm _still_ getting reports from the surrounding countryside of them reporting having seen strange occurrences or fantastic-looking humanoids, even giants."

"Do you think that gives you the right to imprison _us_?" Harry asked. By now he was sure that Shacklebolt would eventually tire of debating him, and would try to take the rings — he hoped he would be able to seize an opportunity to take the Green Ring away from the Minister before then. But the Green Ring's power probably exceeded his own — he would be hard pressed to win this duel.

Shacklebolt probably sensed Harry's impromptu plan as well, for instead of answering Harry's question, he said, "Harry, this becomes tedious. It is nearly time to begin the work day, and I have a government to run. So, if you would please hand over the Ring, _now_…"

Harry reached slowly for the Lighting Ring on his finger, then stopped. "What time is it?" he asked.

"A few minutes before eight," Shacklebolt said. He held out his hand, palm open, waiting. "Come on, Harry, you cannot win… hand over the rings."

"I think," Harry said slowly, moving his hands apart; he had not removed either ring. "You will have to try and take them from me, Minister."

Shacklebolt stared at him, sighing. Then his hand closed and the Ring flashed, sending a beam of green energy at him, which Harry barely dodged. He leapt toward the door, smashing through it into Auror headquarters. The beam followed and caught up with him before he reached the corridor, it slammed into him, throwing into and _through_ the corridor into the wall beyond.

Being underground, Harry expected to find only ground or rock on the other side of the corridor, but he'd crashed through a wall into an unexpected area of the Ministry, a storage room filled with old desks and ancient filing cabinets. It wasn't lighted, but the light coming from the hole he'd just made, along with the green beam itself, allowed him to see enough to dodge behind a row of desks, for a moment's respite.

"You can't hide from the power of the Green Ring, Harry," Shacklebolt's voice came from the corridor, moving closer as the Minister strode across the floor of Auror HQ toward the hole. The tip of the beam rose upward, toward the ceiling, then suddenly shone brightly, illuminating the entire storage area. "It will let me see anywhere in the room," Shacklebolt continued. He willed the green energy to make the objects in the room turn partially transparent. Most of the desks and cabinets, made from wood, began to fade, though a few metal ones resisted.

"Hmm," Shacklebolt noted, idly. "Ollivander didn't mention this — the Ring's energy does not seem to affect metal objects. No matter, though," he shrugged. "There are only a few objects you can be hiding behind, now."

Another green beam shot out from the ring, its tip forming a giant hand. The hand upended several metal cabinets and desks before Kingsley's attention settled on the final metal desk in the room. He strode over to the desk, flipping it out of the way — to reveal a hole in the floor beneath it.

"Clever, Harry," Shacklebolt muttered. "But _down_ is the wrong direction." He stepped into the hole, floating down into it.

With the power of Zeus and the full strength of Hercules, boring straight down into the earth was much like flying into a strong wind in a Quidditch match for Harry — it was slow going but not hard. Harry was disadvantaged by not being able to see where he was going. He'd decided to go downward a ways, hoping to cross into one of the lower floors of the Ministry, then find the elevator shafts and make it to the Atrium. From there he could make a dash to the telephone box that would take him back to the surface. His wand was broken, but he had a spare back at Grimmauld Place. And if he could keep Shacklebolt chasing him long enough…

Harry suddenly broke through into a dark, open space. He floated downward, unable to see, though there was an increasingly green glow coming from the hole he had just come through — Shacklebolt would be right behind him.

That was confirmed when a green, glowing hand suddenly appeared from the hole, groping toward Harry. But the room was now lit as well, and Harry saw a lone door on one wall of the oddly-shaped room. He sped toward the door, wrenching it open and slipping through it as the hand reached for him, then slamming it shut behind him.

Harry turned and caught his breath. He was in a large, circular room with many doors spaced along the curving wall. He recognized this room — it led to numerous other rooms in the Department of Mysteries. At least there were lights in here, Harry thought, but a moment later he regretted slamming the door shut behind him, because the room had begun spinning. Harry watched the blue-flamed candles whirling around him, glad for a moment to think — at least the room's spinning seemed to be keeping Shacklebolt from pursuing him.

But once it came to a halt, what would he do? Should he fight Shacklebolt _here_? It didn't seem wise — the green energy exceeded even his strength, and Shacklebolt, much like Hermione, seemed to immediately understand how to use the Ring. He would have to keep moving.

As soon as the room stopped spinning, Harry lurched toward one of the doors at random, slipping through it as quickly as possible in the hope Shacklebolt would not be able to tell which one he used. He turned, seeing that he had entered the room with the archway and veil on the large, stone dais at its sunken center. This was the room where Sirius had been lost, two years ago.

Harry looked around quickly. This was not a place he wanted to stay — it was too painful, even now, to dwell upon. That, and the idea that he, Ron and Hermione could end up following Sirius through the veil, if the Ministry really wanted to be rid of them — and if he failed to stop Shacklebolt.

At that moment the door glowed green and disappeared, and Kingsley Shacklebolt entered the room, the Ring still glowing brightly on his finger as he advanced toward Harry. "Enough of this, now," he said, in a commanding tone. A green energy hand shot from the ring, pressing against Harry's chest and pushing him back, through the air and onto the dais. He seemed to have the same idea Harry had, about the veil. "You have the Ring of Hercules and the Lightning Ring, Harry, but neither of those are necessary for my plan. If you do not agree to give them up, immediately, I will send you through the veil." The green hand had pressed Harry back, right up to the archway, where Harry put out his arms, catching either side of the ancient, stone arch. He was anchored like this, his back against the veil itself, his arms shaking with exertion as he held himself against the green energy, while Shacklebolt approached.

With each step the Minister took, the pressure of the hand increased against his chest. "I…_won't_!" Harry growled, through gritted teeth.

Shacklebolt looked disappointed, but not surprised. "I'm sorry it has come to this, Harry," he said. "You did us a great service, ridding Britain of Voldemort. I just wish you hadn't let that go to you head…" Harry felt the hand against his chest flex for a final, powerful shove, and he braced his legs and arms for the shove that was sure to come —

— and the green hand suddenly faded to nothingness. With the pressure on his chest removed, Harry stumbled forward, even as Shacklebolt stared in shock at the now-powerless Ring.

"What the hell?" Shacklebolt sputtered, then looked up into the eyes of a frowning, six-and-a-half foot adult Harry Potter, who had reached out and taken hold of him.

"I guess Ollivander forgot to mention a _couple_ of things about that Ring, didn't he?" Harry said, cuffing the Minister into unconsciousness. Lowering him to the floor, Harry felt through his robes until he found the Minister's wand, taking it and removing the Green Ring from his finger. When Kingsley had mentioned earlier that it was a little before eight, Harry remembered that the Ring only worked for 24 hours before needing to be recharged. He gambled that he could hold off Shacklebolt until the time limit ran out and the Ring stopped functioning. He had just barely won that bet — a few more seconds and he would have been forced through the veil into whatever was on "the other side."

Now, what to do next? Harry pondered, looking at the Green Ring. It was as useless to him as it had been to Kingsley — his only advantage was he still wore the Lightning Ring as well as the Ring of Hercules. Not enough of an advantage to storm Auror headquarters and risk Ron or Hermione getting hurt. He would need to use stealth, and have a strategy. _That_ meant returning to Grimmauld Place and retrieving his Invisibility Cloak. Fortunately, with Kingsley's wand in his possession he didn't have to try and fight his way out through the Atrium and main entrance.

Almost as an afterthought, he pointed Kingsley's wand at him and said, "_Incarcerous_!" causing ropes to shoot from the wand's tip and wrap themselves round the Minister's body. Reaching down, Harry pulled one Shacklebolt's boots off and after concentrating for a moment on his destination, tapped it with the wand saying, "_Portus_." The boot glowed a light blue for a moment — Harry frowned as magical alarms went off; he'd apparently tripped a detection spell with his unauthorized use of the Portkey Charm. A Portkey's destination couldn't be traced, but they might guess where he'd go — he would have to act quickly. Just in case Kreacher saw him before he saw the fiercely protective house-elf, Harry raised the Lightning Ring in the air, shouting "Sha-Za-Mo!" to allow the magic lightning to strike him once again, transforming him back to teenaged Harry. He touched the boot and felt the familiar hook-like pull draw him into a swirl of color and sound, taking him home.

=ooo=

Harry arrived in the entrance hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, just inside the front door. The hall was dark but at his sudden appearance the gas lamps along the walls began lighting, one after another, until the room was lit with dim, bluish light. Even as Harry began to call out, "Kreacher!" the ancient house-elf appeared with a _crack_, bowing before him.

"Master Harry is home, finally!" Kreacher said, bowing obsequiously, though there was a hint of impatience in his voice. "Kreacher expected Master home long before now!"

"So did I, Kreacher," Harry said, distractedly. "I'll need you to bring me the Green Lantern I had you put away the other day."  
"Yes, Master Harry. Does Master wish anything to eat —?"

"No — well, yeah, I am a bit hungry…" Harry shook his head. "But I don't have time! I also need my Invisibility Cloak, but I'll get that." When Kreacher just stared at him quizzically, Harry added, "Hurry!" With another loud _crack_, Kreacher disappeared.

Harry ran up the staircase to his bedroom on the first floor. Getting into his old school trunk, he pulled out the Invisibility Cloak, then dashed back downstairs to where he'd met Kreacher at the front door. He'd no sooner skidded to a halt there than Kreacher reappeared, holding the Green Lantern.

"Here is the lamp, Master Harry," Kreacher handed him the Lantern. Taking the Green Ring from his pocket, Harry pressed the face of the ring against the glowing green orb in the lantern, counting to ten to make sure he gave it its full charge. "That should do it," he said, handing the lantern back to the house-elf. "You'd better put that back where you had it, there may be Aurors coming to look through my stuff. I don't want them to find this!"

"Very well, Master Harry," Kreacher said, picking up the lantern. "Kreacher will hide the lamp, and no one will make Kreacher tell where it is hidden! Not even if they _kill_ Kreacher will he —"

"Wait a minute," Harry said, putting up a hand. Kreacher stopped talking. Harry was staring at the Green Ring, now glowing in his palm. "If this Ring can do so much, maybe I can figure out a way for it to make Grimmauld Place more secure, so the Aurors can't even enter it." He picked up the Ring, considering the idea for several seconds, then quickly slipped it onto his middle finger. For a moment he stood, frozen with surprise, as the Green Ring revealed itself to him.

Harry smiled. It would be _easy_, he realized. He started issuing orders to the ring.

It took less than a minute for Harry to finish upgrading the magical protections on Grimmauld Place. "I won't be long," he told Kreacher, as he covered himself with his Invisibility Cloak. "Hermione and Ron should be joining me for dinner tonight. And you won't have to worry about Aurors, now — no one can locate Grimmauld Place unless I will it. Put the Lantern up in my room, it will be safe there." Kreacher began to bow and reply, but Harry covered up completely with the Cloak and willed the Ring to return him to Shacklebolt's offices on the first level of the Ministry.

He arrived, invisible, in a corner of the room out of the way of any potential traffic from the door. Along another wall, Ron and Hermione were both bound to chairs, both looking nervous and scared. Two Aurors, one male and one female, were standing nearby, watching them expressionlessly. The door, Harry noticed, had been repaired from when he'd burst through it, earlier. The room was otherwise empty. The two captives' heads were leaning together, and Harry moved slowly behind Shacklebolt's desk to the opposite corner, to hear what they were saying.

" —don't know if he has a plan or not," Hermione was saying, quietly but with obvious intensity. "But the fact remains that Harry left us here!"

"You've got to give him a chance," Ron replied, just as quietly. "He couldn't just rush up here and try to free us, you know. No telling what these — Aurors — might do." He'd said the word "Auror" with an obvious contempt Hermione had never heard in his voice before.

The male Auror stepped over, putting the tip of his wand on Ron's neck. Ron tried to flinch away, but the Auror pressed the tip against his neck. "Enough of that talk, boy," he said, roughly. "Or you'll _find out_ what we can do!"

Ron nodded, and the Auror stepped away, glaring at him for several moments, then lost interest once again. After a while Ron turned toward Hermione and said, very quietly, "Anyway, you should have known not to give Shacklebolt that Ring!"

"I know," she agreed, "but what he was saying about the Ministry needing it to help defend the Wizarding community against incursion from Muggles just seemed to make so much sense at the time!"

Ron made a disparaging noise, shaking his head. The male Auror looked at Ron again, then took a step toward him. Then fell over, unconscious. The female Auror stared at him in surprise; then she, too, fell over on top of him. Ron and Hermione looked at one another in surprise. After a moment Ron asked, "What do you think?"

Hermione glanced around the room. "I'm guessing Harry is in the room somewhere," she said.

"Good guess," a voice said, followed a moment later by the appearance of Harry's head. The head floated over to the door of the office and a _click_ was heard as Harry magically locked it. The rest of him appeared from beneath the Invisibility Cloak, which Harry quickly folded and put away. He held out his hand, the Green Ring flashed, and the ropes binding Ron and Hermione disappeared in flashes of green.

"Thanks," Ron said, standing and helping Hermione to her feet as well, then suddenly hissed in pain.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, anxiously.

"Urgh, it's that bloody finger," Ron said, holding up his hand, which was still heavily bandaged. "They never would bring in a Healer to reattach it!"

"Let me see!" Hermione demanded. Ron gave her his hand. After a moment she turned to Harry. "Let me have the Green Ring," she told him. "We need to fix this right away!"

Harry handed her the Ring, though he looked doubtful. "I know the Ring can do some amazing stuff — I used it to set up protections around Grimmauld Place — but can it really restore Ron's finger?"

"I think so," Hermione said. She pointed the Ring at Ron's hand. A green glow emanated from the Ring, enveloping Ron's hand. The bandages on it faded away, leaving his hand glowing green. Slowly, the stump of his ring finger began to extend, until the green glow faded, leaving his hand looking perfectly normal once again. Ron's ring finger was restored.

"Wow," Ron said, looking at the regenerated finger. "It feels good as new — doesn't hurt at all! Thanks, Hermione!" She nodded, smiling, then suddenly hugged him tightly.

He was beaming at her when she finally stepped back. "Remind me to thank you more often," he said.

She nodded, but then turned back to Harry. "How did you escape?" she asked him.

Harry briefly recounted his duel with Shacklebolt after escaping his office. "I wasn't leaving you behind," he added, afterwards. "I had to go get my Cloak and recharge your Ring."

"I realize that now," Hermione nodded, looking abashed. "It was just so — so scary, thinking we'd been left here… I mean, I know all the times in the past when I told you to run away from danger, Harry, not _at_ it — but all I could think of was that _this_ might be the time you decided to listen to me!"

"I would never, _ever_ leave you or Ron behind," Harry told her, seriously.

"Harry, I am so, _so_ sorry I gave up the Ring to Shacklebolt," Hermione said. "I was telling Ron earlier I don't know why, but what he was saying sounded so reasonable, I could help myse —" she stopped, hearing her own words. "I wonder…" she said, then stared into the Green Ring on her finger. A light shone upon her face for several moments, and as Harry and Ron watched her expression changed to one of horror. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "He Imperiused me!"

"What?" both Ron and Harry looked at each other, dumbfounded. "No!"

"Yes — yes, it's all there," she insisted, her voice hardening with anger. "Somehow, he put an Imperius Curse on me, to make me believe giving him the Ring would be doing the right thing! That _bastard_!"

"I knew there had to be a reason why you would give up the Ring to him," Harry nodded grimly. "This situation has gone completely out of control."

"We have to clear our names," Hermione said. "Otherwise we'll never be able to work effectively within the Wizarding world again."

"The question is, what are we going to do about it?" Ron pointed out. "I mean, even my father seems to be on the Ministry's side, and if _he's_ been Imperiused then we don't know who we can trust." He looked at Hermione's ring. "Maybe you could use that, make everybody forget that we have these rings in the first place?"

Hermione considered that for a moment, but shook her head, frowning. "You mean Obliviate everyone who might know about these Rings? Like Lockhart did to all those people whose experiences and accomplishments he pretended to have done, himself? I don't want to take people's memories from them, Ron!"

"That's not the way to do it," Harry agreed. "We hated that Lockhart did that to so many people."

"I guess so," Ron agreed. "But it's too bad we can't change even a few minds, the important people — they might persuade everyone else that we're okay."

"Yeah…" Harry said slowly, then looked up at Ron in surprise. "Wait a minute — what would happen, d'you think, if the Minister all of a sudden decided to let us go, and said we'd reached an agreement on the Rings?"

"Why would he do that?" Hermione asked.

"Other than the fact that we saved his and the Ministry's _arses_ several times over?" Ron added, sarcastically. "That hasn't seemed to carry much weight lately, has it?"

"I suppose it depends on who made the decision to confiscate the Rings in the first place — Shacklebolt, the Wizengamot, or…someone else," Harry pondered, suddenly having an idea who that "someone else" might be. "We need to find out who's at the bottom of this push to have us removed from the Auror Department and gain control of these Rings."

Hermione crossed her arms. "How do you suggest we do that?"

Harry looked around the room, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Well…" he pointed at the unconscious Aurors. "What if you and Ron change places with these two, then? You can pretend to stand guard over them — you can say they were causing trouble and you had to Stun both of them. I don't think anyone will question that, given what's been going on around here for the past day.

"I'll remain under the Invisibility Cloak. With any luck Shacklebolt will be back up here before long, and when he's alone we can have a 'discussion' with him about the situation," Harry finished outlining his "plan."

Hermione made a face. "I could drive a lorry through the holes in that idea, Harry," she told him, then shrugged. "But I can't think of anything better, so…"

"So we'll try it," Ron agreed. "Well, in the worst case," he added, "Hermione can pull us out of here with the Green Ring if anyone rumbles to us."

Hermione pointed her ring at the two unconscious Aurors, who floated into the air and were seated on the two chairs in Ron and Hermione's place. A pair of green tentacles flowed from the ring, touching Ron and the male Auror, and an amazing transformation began to take place — both Ron's and the Auror's features began to flow and meld, reforming so that the person in the chair looked like Ron and he, like that Auror. A few moments later the same transformation was accomplished between Hermione and the female Auror.

"There," Hermione said, in the female Auror's voice. "That was easy enough. I also extracted each Auror name and today's duties from their minds and put it in mine and Ron's. I'm Auror Cahill and he's Auror Smithson." She suddenly glanced at the door of the office. "The Ring is warning me someone's coming!" she said in a hushed voice. "Harry, get under your Cloak!"

Harry pulled the Cloak over himself and stepped back into a corner, invisible, and Hermione quickly rebound their unconscious doppelgangers with ropes once again, as they had been. At the last moment a flash of green from her ring touched the door handle, unlocking, just as it sprung upon and Minister Shacklebolt stormed into the room, hobbling on one boot, followed by Dolores Umbridge and Aurors Savage and Proudfoot. Shacklebolt was obviously enraged; he strode directly to his desk, sat down and began writing an order on a new sheet of Ministry letterhead.

"Unbelievable," he muttered as he wrote, "that Ollivander managed to keep so much information about the Rings from us!"

Umbridge wasn't _quite_ smiling, but there was a quirk on her thin, toadlike lips as she said, "Perhaps next time, Minister, you will allow _me_ to handle the interrogation." She glanced at the two Aurors with her. "Having been a headmistress, I know a few techniques that your men obviously do not." Neither Proudfoot nor Savage looked pleased at this comment, but they said nothing.

"That may be true, Madam Umbridge," Shacklebolt said distractedly, still writing. "But there's no use crying over spilt potion." He finished writing, then tapped the parchment three times with the pen he'd been writing with. The parchment folded itself twice; Shackebolt then picked up a stick of red sealing wax, holding it over the letter until a bit of it melted onto the parchment, forming a Ministry seal. He handed the parchment to Savage.

"This is the Portkey authorization to transport Ollivander to Azkaban, to be held there until further notice." Beneath his Cloak, Harry silently gritted his teeth. He was _not_ going to let Ollivander be taken to that prison!

"Bring him here before you leave," Shacklebolt told the Aurors. "I want a final word with him before he goes. Cahill, you go with them and provide backup." Savage and Proudfoot nodded and left the room, followed by Hermione, ,leaving Ron staring uneasily at the corner where he believed Harry was listening.

"And what of these other two?" Umbridge asked, gesturing toward the unconscious figures bound nearby. "Will you question them some more as well?"

The Minister looked over at them for a long moment. "In due time," he said at last, taking another piece of parchment and beginning to write on it as well. "I think they should go to Azkaban as well — it is more defensible than the Ministry; if Potter decides to try and rescue them.

"We're going to have to get a clearer picture of the capabilities and limitation of that Green Ring, however," the Minister continued. "Having worn it, I was made privy to some of its secrets, but it did not tell me about the 24-hour time limit, something Potter obviously knew — he forced me to chase him until the Ring's power ran out, then ambushed me."

Harry nearly snorted with anger at Shacklebolt's lie. In reality, he'd been only seconds from being pushed through the veil _by_ Shacklebolt!

"What's your plan for when Potter is found, then?" Umbridge asked, curtly. "Azkaban as well?"

Shacklebolt gazed at her for several moments, trying to decide if she was serious or merely mocking hm. "Harry is the Chosen One," he said at last. "He defeated Lord Voldemort!"

"Yes, and now the Dark Lord is dead, his usefulness to the Ministry is ended," Umbridge pointed out, bluntly.

"That much is true," the Minister agreed. "But I am reluctant to simply cast him aside so quickly, when he might be a useful…well, selling point for students in their final years at Hogwarts wanting to pursue a career in the Ministry, especially the Auror Department."

"You threw away Sirius Black," Umbridge pointed out. Beneath the Cloak, Harry stopped breathing and began listening intently.

"That was different," Shacklebolt demurred. "Black would have been an ongoing problem if he'd remained free after James and Lily Potter were killed. He might have fought placing Harry with his Muggle relatives, the Dursleys. Dumbledore had hoped to keep him completely out of the Wizarding World until it was time for him to attend Hogwarts. I was a new Auror back when Black and Pettigrew confronted each other that morning in November 1981 — I knew the headmaster was trying to locate Black, afraid of what might happen if he found Peter first. I'm afraid I and the other Aurors jumped to the wrong conclusion."

Harry stood stock-still beneath the Cloak, trembling with rage. Before he could do anything, however, the door opened and Proudfoot and Savage entered the room, escorting Ollivander, followed by Cahill, the Auror Hermione was impersonating, and a final Auror Harry didn't recognize. Ollivander looked wild and disheveled; his hair was uncombed and he had a frightened look on his large, moonlike eyes. He did not speak, however, even when Shacklebolt offered him one last chance; he kept shaking his head emphatically no.

Harry, who believed the old man was frightened out of his wits at the prospect of going to Azkaban, was taking out Shacklebolt's captured wand, preparing to stop them, when he saw Hermione's Auror staring directly at him. As their eyes locked, she shook her head slightly, _no, not yet_, her signal said. Harry relaxed a bit, knowing she must have done something about the situation when they were out of the room.

"After you drop the old man off," Shacklebolt told the two men, "come back for these two. We'll have them ready by the time you return." Savage nodded, and threw a malicious grin at the two bound figures as the authorization order glowed blue momentarily and he, Proudfoot, and Ollivander disappeared.

"That's one problem solved," Umbridge said, smugly. She glanced at Shacklebolt. "But you've still got three to go, and I won't be happy until we have Harry Potter standing here before us."

Harry, who'd barely been able to contain himself once the Aurors had gone, threw the Invisibility Cloak off himself and shouted, "Hope you're happy _now_!"

There was a stunned moment when neither Umbridge nor the Minister could believe what had happened. Shacklebolt jumped up from his desk, reaching for his wand until, mid-gesture, he realized he no longer had it — then he pointed frantically at Harry, shouting "Get him!" at the Aurors in the room, as Umbridge hastily drew her own wand.

Harry's wand was faster, though. "_Expelliarmus_!" he shouted, and Umbridge's wand flew through the air. Harry reached up and deftly caught it, then pointed it at Shacklebolt. "Hello, Minister," he said conversationally.

"What's wrong with you?" Shacklebolt shouted at the Aurors in the room. They looked at him, then held up their hands, showing their Rings to Shacklebolt. The three Aurors shimmered green for a moment, returning to the forms of Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Mr. Ollivander. "Oh," Shacklebolt squeaked, thoroughly surprised.

"HEEEEEEEELP!" Umbridge suddenly screeched, running to the door of the office and trying to open it, then pounding desperately on it when it did not open. "POTTER'S KIDNAPPED THE MINISTER! ALARM! ALARM!" After pounding on the door for a while longer she stopped, turned around, and looked at the others in the room.

"I made the door Imperturbable," Hermione told her, coldly. "You can bang away on it all day, no one on the other side will hear you. I've also put a sign on the other side saying the Minister's in an important meeting, not to be disturbed. So, unless you want to end up like these two —" she pointed to the two bound figures next to her "— you'll quiet down and listen."

"Impudent little girl!" Umbridge snarled, but she stepped away from the door, walking around in a wide circle to stand beside (actually slightly behind) Shacklebolt at the desk.

"I've already heard enough," Harry said, slowly, "to know we were never going to get a fair hearing over these Rings. But I want to hear what happened to _you_," he asked, turning to Ollivander. "It appears they asked you questions about these Rings, sir."

"They did, Harry," Ollivander nodded. His voice was shakier than Harry had ever heard it, even when they found him in Malfoy Manor over the Easter holidays, earlier that year, after being held captive there for almost two years — they had found his shop in Diagon Alley empty in July of 1996. "They were not v-very pleasant about it, however." He went on to describe what they had done to him, and Harry and the others winced as he told of spells used to trick him into thinking he was being held by Voldemort once again, in Malfoy's dungeon,

When he finished, Harry turned to Shacklebolt, who had listened to Ollivander's story with a look of growing consternation on his face. "I did not authorize that level of interrogation, Harry," he said quickly, as Harry stared at him. He turned to Umbridge. "I warned you not to be that harsh with him!"

"We needed the information!" Umbridge objected. "You know how important those Rings are!"

"So important," Hermione broke in, angrily, "that you were willing to destroy lives to get them?"

"What do _you_ know about running a government, girl?" Umbridge snapped at her.

"I know it's supposed to be about serving people, not controlling them!" Hermione fired back.

Umbridge practically cackled at her. "How naïve you are! Government has always been about controlling people! The privileged have always controlled the masses!"

"How well do you think you're going to control anyone from Azkaban?" Harry asked, his voice hard with anger.

Umbridge smirked at him. "Try not to sound as thick as you are, Potter! You can't send anyone to Azkaban — the Wizengamot would reverse that in a heartbeat, and you would be declared outlaw! You've already done irreparable harm to your reputation as it is — defying the Head Auror _and_ the Minister of Magic, and tearing up the Ministry, all in one day! The Minister would be hard-pressed to excuse you for all that now!"

"Maybe," Harry agreed. "_If_ all that wasn't trumped by something even worse that someone else did." He'd suddenly realized something concerning what Hermione had said earlier, about Shacklebolt Imperiusing her. "Hermione, check the Minister and see if any spells are currently cast on him. A green beam from her Ring passed over Shacklebolt, and Hermione looked at Harry in surprise.

"He's been Imperiused, too!" she exclaimed.

"What?" Shacklebolt shouted. "Who?"

Hermione nodded toward Umbridge. "It was her!"

"I thought so," Harry said, nodding. "The Kingsley Shacklebolt I know would not have used the Imperius Curse on any of us without a very good reason; I suspected an external cause for him to have turned it against Hermione to get the Ring.

"You Imperiused _me_?" Shacklebolt looked at Umbridge, outraged. "Your _Minister_?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Umbridge shook her head. "They are trying to turn you against me, Minister!"

"The Ring isn't wrong," Hermione said, holding up her hand with the Green Ring glowing on her finger. "You put the curse on him!"

"Yeah, I'm convinced," Harry said, before Umbridge could protest further. He looked at Shacklebolt. "If there's anyone who ought to go to Azkaban, it's her!"

Umbridge spun toward him, but with her mouth half-open she suddenly smiled, a leer that looked more painful then happy, and said, "Harry, surely you realize that it would do no good to send me to prison. I know more about the people who are really out to stop the Minister's efforts to succeed, that's why I've been trying to help him — it's been for his own good, really —"

Hermione stepped forward, shaking a finger at her. "You wicked, evil, lying woman! You may think you can fool Harry, but you can't fool the Ring! It _knows_ you're lying to us all! You want to control the Ministry yourself!"

Harry turned to Shacklebolt. "Here's the deal: Obviously, you were taken in by Umbridge." She opened her mouth to protest but Harry put up a hand, stopping her. "She Imperiused you and will continue to abuse her position and her power as long as someone lets her.

"On the one hand, Hermione, Ron and I don't know a lot about how the government works, but I've seen it abused often enough, first by Fudge and then by Scrimgeour, to believe that you at least intended to do things right.

"And on the other hand, I think we have pretty good idea how things _ought_ to run, if we want a government that's working _for_ people and not to control them. So I propose that we create an agreement between the four of us — you, Hermione, Ron and myself — to run the Ministry, with you staying on as Minister of Magic and we three as your 'personal advisors.' If anyone is going to use these Rings to help the Wizarding community, it may as well be us!"

Shacklebolt looked wary. "What would you do in this capacity, as my advisors? I have Secretaries and Under-secretaries for such duties, like Madam Umbridge here."

"Yeah, and look where _that_ got you," Ron pointed out.

"Madam Umbridge," Harry added, "is going to Azkaban. If you really think that's unfair, Minister, after everything she's done, then I think you're past saving as well and may as well go with her." Harry shrugged. "The choice is up to you."

Shacklebolt stood still for several seconds, staring at Harry, then shrugged and sat down at his desk, took out a fresh piece of parchment and began writing on it. He signed it and folded it, then handed it to Umbridge. "Sorry, Dolores," he said, flatly. "But it's business."

Umbridge looked at the order, horror-struck for a moment. Then her face turned purple with rage as she sputtered at him. "You ungrateful bastard! I helped make you Minister! I'll protest my innocence to the full Wizengamot! Don't think for a moment you've heard the last —" her ranting cut off in mid sentence as a green beam struck her and she disappeared.

"She can wait her turn before the Wizengamot in Azkaban," Hermione said, lowering her arm again. She looked at Harry. "Now, I suppose we'll need a magical contract for us to sign, Harry?"

Over the next few hours the three Ring-bearers crafted a binding magical contract, one involving oaths of loyalty to them and to the people of the Wizarding world, along with the Fidelius Charm so that only the people in the room, Mr. Ollivander included, would know of its creation, with Hermione as the Secret Keeper. When finally signed, it gave the de facto power of the Wizarding government of Great Britain to the Privy Council of the Three Rings, all decisions made by a majority vote of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

"I hope you three know what you're doing," Shacklebolt said, as Hermione placed the signed document in her beaded purse. "I've tried to warn you, running a government is not as simple as you think."

"Or perhaps it's simpler than _you_ think," Harry countered. "In any case, you take orders from _us_, now." He turned to the other two Ring-bearers. "I think this calls for a celebration tonight, don't you?"

"Agreed!" Ron beamed. "Too bad we can't tell anyone what we're really celebrating, eh?"

"I should be going back to my shop," Ollivander said. "I wish you success in this endeavor, Harry. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley." With a small bow, Ollivander took the Portkey authorization Shacklebolt hastily scratched out for him, and disappeared, reappearing in his shop moments later.

The old man took a deep breath, wondering whether he had just witnessed the beginning of a golden age for the Wizarding world, or this was the curse that had been foretold…


End file.
